


The Endless In-Between

by Panem, soamazinghere, wincechesters



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-19
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2017-12-12 08:11:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 101,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/809311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Panem/pseuds/Panem, https://archiveofourown.org/users/soamazinghere/pseuds/soamazinghere, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wincechesters/pseuds/wincechesters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 2007, Primrose Everdeen vanished without a trace. Since then, her sister Katniss has put her own life on hold, stuck in a rut and unable to move on without knowing what happened to Prim. But with the help of first year detective Peeta Mellark, Katniss may discover more than just the answers to her sister’s disappearance. Modern Everlark AU inspired by The Lovely Bones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Primrose

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! We'd also like to thank angylinni for setting the three of us up to write each other's stories in the Hunger Games Spring Fling. That's how we initially connected and ultimately decided to write together.
> 
> This is a multi-author collaboration. Each chapter will be written from one character's POV, and each character is written by a different author, as follows:
> 
> Prim: soamazinghere  
> Katniss: madefrommemories  
> Peeta: panem
> 
> Disclaimer: We do not own The Hunger Games or The Lovely Bones. We're doing this purely for fun.
> 
> Thanks to our fantastic beta sunfishdunes, as well as our awesome pre-readers desertginger and jennagill.
> 
> Please comment to let us know what you think! And come follow us on tumblr at madefrommemoriesff, loveforpanem, and soamazinghere.

[](http://s1351.photobucket.com/user/madefrommemories/media/TEIB-bannercopy_zpsd414a2a8.jpg.html)

Chapter 1: Primrose

*****trigger warning for non-graphic depiction of rape and murder*****  


__________ 

My name is Primrose, like the flower. Last name, Everdeen. I was 14 years old when I was murdered on June 14, 2007.

 

Even though my life was short, I still spent thousands of days among the living. I could probably tell you hundreds of happy, or sad, or funny stories from my life. But in the end, no one really remembers those stories. All those thousands of days are overshadowed by one: the day I died.

 

So let’s get that story out of the way first.

 

The day of my untimely death was actually just like any other. When I look back, I’m always surprised by how ordinary it was. In fact, it was even a _good_ day. Seriously. If not for the fact that I was murdered, it might have turned out to be one of my favorite days that summer.

 

I doubt anyone but me remembers the good parts of that day, though. Maybe my sister...but honestly, I’m not sure she enjoys looking back on the times when we were happy. I wish she did, but I think that remembering me brings her pain.

 

The story of my death is the one story that only I know, that only I can tell. Other people know bits and pieces of what happened that day, but no one else knows the whole story from start to finish. So I’m really the best one to tell it.

 

Here’s what happened.

 

Just like every Thursday, my sister Katniss dropped me off at the rec center for my Girl Scout meeting in the late afternoon. “I’m going to get some groceries, but I’ll be back before you get out, okay?” she reminded me, smiling and giving my blonde ponytail a gentle pull. I giggled as I opened the passenger door of her truck. It was hot and sticky outside, but with a slight breeze, it still felt better than the stifling interior of her old, non-air conditioned truck.

 

“Yep, I’ll see you in a couple of hours!” I told her, waving as I turned to jog away. I was a few minutes late for the meeting, so I didn’t look back as she drove off. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wished that I had. I wish I’d had a chance to memorize the little details that I had no way of knowing I was seeing for the last time: the dark green color of our dad’s old truck, the little wisps of dark hair that escaped from Katniss’s braid and flew around her face as she drove, how tan her skin was compared to my own.

 

I hurried into the rec center, smiling at the elderly woman sitting at the front desk as I made my way to the small conference room where my troop usually met. But when I reached the end of the hallway, the door was closed. A note posted on the door read, “Girl Scouts cancelled - June 14.”

 

_Oh no_ , I thought to myself, exasperated. I knew Katniss was already gone, and I was stuck. This wasn’t the first time that I felt frustrated neither she nor I had cell phones. Mom and Katniss both said we couldn’t afford it, and I knew they were right...but it made me feel so self-conscious sometimes. _Everyone_ I knew had a cell phone. And in a situation like this, I couldn’t reach Katniss to ask her to come pick me up.

 

The rec center was located in the wealthier part of Panem, the little town where I lived my entire life. The nearby houses looked huge and stately, with spacious, manicured lawns separating them from the road. It was quite a difference from the tiny, somewhat dilapidated house where my family lived. I’d always wondered what the families who lived there did with all that space. We were comfortable in our house, but it was definitely cramped.

 

Home was miles from away from here - much further than I cared to walk in the June heat. It’d be almost two hours before Katniss returned for me. Sighing, I sat down on a bench in front of the building, dropping my chin into my hands.

 

After a few minutes of boredom, staring out at the mostly empty parking lot, my attention wandered to the nearby neighborhood. I’d never really had a chance to explore it before, but the tree-lined streets and well-kept yards looked inviting. _Plenty of time until Katniss gets back_ , I thought to myself as I stood and strode purposefully across the blazingly hot asphalt.

 

The funny thing that no one has ever figured out is that I didn’t make it far away from the rec center that day. Nope, my very last hour on this planet was spent in the big white house that I could see directly across the parking lot on Capitol Drive. Of course, I didn’t set out that day intending to end up _inside_ it.

 

But I got distracted almost as soon as my feet hit the sidewalk on the other side of the parking lot. My ears perked up as I heard something, like faint whimpering. I stopped and looked around, trying to focus on the sound to locate its source. And it wasn’t far away. In fact, it was just behind a tree in the front yard of the white house - a dirty, scruffy yellow cat that was limping and holding one paw gingerly in the air.

 

“Oh, you poor thing!” I immediately exclaimed, kneeling down and reaching my hand out to let it sniff me. After a moment’s hesitation, the cat rubbed its head into my hand. I stroked it gently before picking it up to look for a collar.

 

Nothing. No identification whatsoever. I vividly remember looking around and trying to decide what to do next. Leaving the cat behind never even occurred to me - it was hurt and I had to do _something_ to help. Approaching the nearest house was the best idea I had at the time; obviously I had no clue it would turn out to be the worst mistake I ever made.

 

The street - actually, the entire neighborhood - was quiet and deserted that afternoon. I don’t know if that was because it was the middle of the day on a weekday, or if it was because of the stifling heat. Either way, now I just think of that deserted street as another one of the pieces that had to align perfectly to allow my death to occur that day. If any one little thing had changed, maybe things would’ve been different.

 

I try not to dwell on those sorts of things very often, though. I can’t exactly go back.

 

Holding the yellow cat firmly in both of my arms, I made my way towards the heavy-looking, windowless grey door on the nearby house. As I approached the door, the cat’s ears flattened against its head and a low growl emanated from its throat. “Don’t worry, little guy, we’re going to get you better soon,” I said, attempting to reassure him. I had no idea that the poor, pathetic cat was trying to help _me_ out.

 

I rang the doorbell and waited. I rang it again, and again. No answer. The cat was clearly getting antsy from me holding it for so long, so I decided to circle around to the back of the house to see if I could find any sign that the cat belonged there.

 

The backyard was surrounded by a tall wooden fence. The fence posts were spaced so closely together that nothing of the yard was visible from the outside. I hesitantly approached the gate, pausing as I reached for the latch. _Is it really a good idea to go into some stranger’s yard for this cat?_ I remember thinking. _What will they think if they catch me?_ But the cat was squirming in my arms more and more violently; I knew I had to find its owner soon or it might run away.

 

I pushed through the gate, hearing it latch closed behind me. I walked past several windows, all with their shades drawn tightly, as I approached the back corner of the house. The cat continued struggling against my arms, hissing and trying to free its uninjured legs from my grasp. Just as I was about to round the corner towards the back of the house, the cat lunged upward at my head, freeing its front paw and tangling its sharp claws in my hair. “Ow!” I yelped, instinctively dropping the cat and pressing my hand to the side of my head.

 

In our scuffle, the cat had ripped away my pink hair ribbon as it fled. Without the ribbon, my hair fell haphazardly out of its neat ponytail, making it even more difficult to locate where exactly I’d been scratched. But I knew I’d been hurt badly enough, given the throbbing pain on my head and the blood that I saw on my hand as I withdrew it.

 

In the end, though, cat scratches were the least of my problems. Before I even truly registered what had happened, I felt two arms grab me roughly from behind, one circling my waist and the other clamping a hand over my mouth. They were holding me so tightly that I couldn’t even turn around to see who it was.

 

In my panic, I first froze, uncertain how to react. But as I felt myself being pulled towards the back door of the house, my instincts took over. I couldn’t scream, but I kicked and arched my back and threw my body from side to side - anything to try to loosen the grip this person had on me. Nothing worked. My panicked brain couldn’t even form a single coherent thought to try to help me figure out what to do.

 

I felt so completely and utterly powerless. That poor, injured cat managed to get away from me, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t struggle hard enough to free _myself_.

 

My feet were dragged over the threshold of the back door, and I darted my eyes quickly back and forth. I was in a neat, clean, and surprisingly normal-looking kitchen. I kicked my legs fiercely and succeeded in loudly knocking over a metal trash can, thinking that maybe someone would help me if they could _just hear it_. But I should’ve known better. Of course we were alone in the house.

 

Abruptly my captor turned me around and I found myself pushed forward, towards a dark staircase leading down into what I assumed was a basement. The hand dropped from my mouth and I cried out instinctively, “Help me! Someone!” Just then I twisted my head sideways and saw my soon-to-be murderer for the first time. He was an older, almost grandfatherly-looking man with a full head of white hair. How could a man his age be so strong? I could barely think straight, but some part of me tried to memorize his features so that I could describe him to the police later.

 

He was silent as he pushed me, stumbling, to the top of the staircase. I tried to go limp, to dig my heels into the ground, to do _anything_ to stop our forward progress. Somewhere deep down I knew that if we went down those stairs, I’d never come back up. “Please, please, please,” I chanted, tears finally starting to stream down my face as the realization of my situation started to hit me fully.

 

Somehow my own two feet took me down the staircase; maybe some part of me thought being cooperative would help? I’m not sure exactly, but I definitely have no memory of being carried down the stairs. It was so dark that I couldn’t see anything, not even a tiny beam of light through a window. I didn’t even notice if there _were_ any windows. It was hard enough just to remember to breathe; my heaving sobs were making speaking impossible and breathing very nearly so.

 

A door shut behind me. As I started to turn around, a hand on my back pushed me violently and I fell, striking my chin on something hard. The floor was solid and cold beneath me, but I didn’t move. I had no idea what to do. How to even attempt to save myself. I feared what was ultimately the truth - that it was too late for me.

 

Pushing myself to my hands and knees, I tried to scramble away. Away from what, though? I didn’t know. I could faintly make out shapes in the dark - boxes, maybe? - and thought that there might be somewhere for me to hide, or some kind of weapon I could grab. But the man grabbed my legs and jerked them out from under me, leaving me flat on my stomach once more.

 

“Don’t!” I screamed, rolling hastily onto my back and flailing my legs wildly in a desperate attempt to strike him. But he was too fast for me, pinning me to the ground with his entire body weight.

 

He grabbed my face in his hands and held it in place, staring at me appraisingly. I closed my eyes and moaned. “Shhh,” he said with surprising calmness. “Be quiet and this will all be over soon.”

 

Up until this point in my life, I’d always been the kind of person who believed the best about others. I had never encountered anyone who was inherently evil, and I doubted that people like that even existed. So even though what had happened up to this point was unbelievably terrifying and cruel, I wanted to believe him. I stopped struggling, praying to myself that he was telling the truth, and that he’d let me go.

 

As I lay limp on the ground, the cold seeping into my body, the last things I really clearly remember were the feeling of his hands on my legs pushing up my skirt, followed by the sound of his pants unzipping. At that point, I shut down. I closed my eyes tight and balled my fists at my sides, blocking out every sound and sensation I felt from that point on.

 

I don’t have a clear memory of the burning pain between my legs, or the anguished, animal-like cries that I couldn’t stifle, or the warm tears streaming down my cheeks and running through my ears on their way to the floor. None of it. I kept my eyes shut for what felt like an eternity.

 

I never even _saw_ the knife.

 

So I didn’t understand why my limbs were getting heavier and heavier, to the point that I couldn’t even move them anymore. I didn’t know why the dry ground beneath my head was suddenly covered in a warm and sticky fluid.  Why I felt like I was choking, my mouth filled with a strange metallic taste.

 

But then, inexplicably, he let me go. I felt his weight remove itself from my legs, and I regained control of my limbs.

 

_It was over_.

 

I stood and ran away as fast I could.

__________

 

Unsurprisingly, a violent death makes you want to flee the earth as quickly as you possibly can. You’re still running. You either won’t or can’t look back. You don’t even know you’re dead until you’re far enough away to start to feel safe again, and only then do you realize what happened.

 

When I fled my murderer’s house that summer day, I truly thought I was still alive. Since I didn’t look back, I never saw that I was actually still lying on that cold floor, a huge pool of blood quickly forming beneath me, soaking my clothes and hair. But even if I’d seen the blood, I still wouldn’t have been able to comprehend what happened; that’s not how death works. At least not when you die how I died. I wasn’t meant to stay behind and try to figure out what happened. I had to go.

 

Every instinct in my body urged me to move faster, to put as much distance as I could between myself and my killer. I had no clue that he wasn’t chasing after me. In fact, I assumed he was.

 

I didn’t notice that the June heat had completely dissipated when I left the house, changing into a sort of murky nothingness. I ran blindly towards the parking lot of the rec center, where I could see my dad’s old truck, and where my sister sat oblivious on the ground, reading a book. I remember panicking for her safety. She had to get away. He couldn’t get her, too.

 

“Run, Katniss!” I screamed from across the parking lot. “Run!” I repeated when I saw that she didn’t move. _Why is she just sitting there?_ I thought in my confusion as I sprinted frantically.

 

As I approached Katniss, still agitatedly pleading with her to get up, she never even acknowledged my presence. She focused all of her attention on our dog, Lady, who’d started barking furiously when she heard me yelling. Katniss tried to calm Lady down, while at the same time looking around, perplexed, trying to figure out what was upsetting her.

 

I didn’t slow down - I couldn’t - but I reached out my hand to grab Katniss’s arm as I ran by. As I touched her, she glanced up with a bewildered look on her face and seemed to say something.

 

I couldn’t hear her though, and it seemed unimportant at the time. We couldn’t talk; we had to _run_. “Come on, Katniss!” I begged her. But she didn’t move. She wouldn’t come with me. And I couldn’t wait for her.

 

Katniss, my older sister and my best friend, was the last living person I would ever touch. When I reached out for her arm that day, I thought I was just trying to save her, to keep her from falling victim to the same man who’d hurt me. Now that I’m gone and I can look back with more clarity, I know my touch was much more than that. I was reaching out for my last connection to Earth.

 

Still, I fear that touch was a selfish act on my part. For me, it was a release, a goodbye to the person I loved more than anyone. But Katniss felt it, too. And it doesn’t provide her with the same comfort it provided me. My touch haunts her and roots her to that spot, to that horrible day when her life changed forever. My sister - with her whole life ahead of her - has basically been standing still ever since.

 

I didn’t mean to, but I took part of her with me when I left that day. And I still haven’t figured out how to make her whole again.

__________

 

Since I died, I’ve spent a lot of time watching the people I left behind. Mostly Katniss and my mom. Their lives were the most affected by my death, and I can’t help feeling guilty about what I see. Losing me was just another blow that neither of them deserved.

 

When I was seven years old, my dad died in an accident at the coal mine where he worked. It was the first tragedy I ever experienced, the first death of anyone I really knew. My life had been so happy and carefree up to that point; we didn’t have much money, but Mom and Dad loved each other so much that our home didn’t feel lacking in anything.

 

I was too young to really comprehend exactly how much everything changed after Dad died. All I knew was that when I reached out to my mom for comfort, to help me feel better, she suddenly wasn’t there. Well, she was still _there_ in some ways - she was alive, and she still got out of bed and went to work every day - but she was doing the bare minimum that she needed to take care of her two daughters. Less than the minimum, really. That’s why Katniss had to grow up so fast; her childhood essentially ended at age eleven because someone needed to take care of me and Mom.

 

When I look back and think about my old life, there are so many things that I wish I could change, or experiences that I regret never being able to have. But my single biggest regret is that I never thanked Katniss for everything she did for me. I’m not sure whether she even knows that I was aware of everything she did, much less how much I appreciated it and loved her for it.

 

By the time I died, though, we were as close as we had ever been - and as close as we ever would be - to becoming a normal, functional family again. Almost like we used to be when Dad was around. After I disappeared, my mom once more collapsed into her grief, right back into the same abyss that my dad’s death had dragged her into. Katniss was forced to give up everything she’d achieved in her own life and return to the role she’d taken on when she was eleven. The lone functioning adult in an ever-shrinking household.

 

My sister doesn’t deserve the life she’s been living. I don’t know anymore whether she was forced into this life or whether she chose it, but either way, she deserves so much more. The summer of my death, she had just graduated from high school and was about to leave home to go to college. She would’ve been the first one in our family to even _go_ to college - Mom and I were so proud. But once I was gone, she just...stopped living. She gave up her scholarship and simply walked away from all of her potential.

 

I get _why_ she did it, I really do. She and I had become so close over the years when we were essentially parent-less and I don’t think either of us were prepared for life without the other. I never realized it when I was alive; I thought I was the one who relied on her, not the other way around. It’s only since I’ve been away from her, unable to do anything but watch, that I started to understand how much she relied on me, too.

 

And Katniss was never allowed to grieve her losses: not Dad’s death, and not mine either. Mom fell apart and someone had to take care of her. That someone was _always_ Katniss. 

 

She wouldn’t admit it, but her life revolves around me even to this day. You’d think after six years she’d start to let go, but that’s not my sister. Her desire to find out what happened to me was an obsession in the beginning; now the fervor has faded, but the search is still woven into the routines of her life. Calling the police every week, peering intently at strangers she encounters, picking up trash off the ground if she thinks it looks like something I owned...she can’t stop herself from doing these things, and she doesn’t want to. I know she feels that she owes this to me, because she thinks that she could’ve saved me if she’d done something different that day.

 

She’s wrong though; no one could’ve changed what happened. I just have no way of telling her that.

__________

 

Six years of searching and the only trace of me they’ve ever found is my pink hair ribbon. The one that yellow cat clawed out of my hair. The cat ran (limped, really) across streets and through yards with the ribbon caught in its paw, eventually losing it in some bushes on the opposite end of the neighborhood, far from where I was killed.

 

So in the end, that one clue didn’t help at all. If anything, it made it easier for my killer to get away with what he’d done, because it seemed that I’d been taken much further from the rec center than I actually was. With the police’s attention diverted by the false lead, they lost any chance they might’ve had to find me.

 

The police did what they could - I certainly don’t blame them. They weren’t incompetent or lazy, but just...caught off guard, I think. Our little town had it’s share of crime, don’t get me wrong, but murders were very uncommon. The officers did their best, though. They talked to everyone who lived in the neighborhood where I disappeared - they even talked to my killer - but no one emerged as a suspect. Everyone was properly horrified at what had happened. And my killer was a very convincing liar.

 

I’ve learned a few things about him in the years since I died, not that this knowledge does me any good. My killer’s name is Snow. He’d been watching me for months before my death. He even knew my name. When I stumbled into his backyard that day, he couldn’t believe his luck. I’d delivered myself directly to his doorstep.

 

When the police stopped by his house the day after my murder, he expressed just the right amount of shock and regret - _How could something like this happen in our town? What kind of monster would go after a young girl?_ \- that they didn’t even spend five minutes with him before moving on. They didn’t know that throughout their conversation, Snow periodically reached into his pocket and ran his thumb and forefinger over the cool metal of the bird necklace - a gift from my sister - that he’d taken from my body. They didn’t know that the entire time they were speaking to him, my lifeless body was lying in the garage, folded in on itself, wrapped carefully in a plastic sheet, and stuffed inside a triple layer of garbage bags.

 

And even if the police had suspected anything, it would’ve been very difficult to find the murder weapon, even just a day later. Snow was careful to thoroughly clean it, sharpen it, and replace it among the other professional-quality knives in his spotless kitchen.

 

If they’d gone downstairs to the basement room where I was killed, they would’ve been hard-pressed to notice anything out of the ordinary. Snow had taken enormous care cleaning up my blood, and then rearranging the boxes to make the room look somewhat messy and haphazard, like you might find in a storage room in anyone’s basement. He couldn’t clean up all the blood - I had lain on the floor for several hours after my death, blood slowly oozing out of the gaping wound in my neck - but to deal with that, he’d simply moved a heavy old refrigerator over the stain. And a year later, after the investigation into my disappearance died down, he re-finished the basement, obliterating even that last mark that I left behind.

 

Snow clearly knew what he was doing. It wasn’t his first time.

 

The day after my death, after he spoke to the police on his front porch, Snow walked back inside his house and made himself a grilled cheese sandwich for lunch. Then he donned a baseball cap and gloves and walked into his front yard, tending affectionately to a collection of plants running along the front walls of his house. He tilled the ground and prepared a spot for the evening primrose bush that he eventually planted two weeks after my death.

 

Underneath the bush, he placed one piece of my clothing - my plain white cotton panties - that he removed from my body just before I died. Everything else that I was wearing that day - my favorite lavender-flowered sundress, my white cotton bra, and my black flip-flops - were horribly blood-stained and would go with me to my grave. The panties were, ironically, my only clothing from that day that bore no signs of what had happened, since they’d been ripped off and tossed aside before the worst occurred. Snow set them aside after my death, carefully placing them in the ground beneath the primrose. It was his own little memorial to me.

 

The evening after he spoke to the police, Snow heaved the garbage bags containing my body into his SUV and drove to the local community college. They were busily constructing a new arena for their football team, but on this blazingly hot day, work had finished in the late morning. Snow found the perfect spot for a grave - a flat, dirt-covered expanse that had already been prepared for concrete to be poured to form the building’s foundation. I’d be sealed up forever.

 

He was surprisingly careless - or maybe cocky? - in burying me under barely a foot of soil, even though he did his best to smooth the dirt and make the site appear just as it had before he arrived. The construction crews ignored the site for a week, focusing on other work. _One full week_ when someone could have found me. But no one did. I rested undisturbed. They poured the concrete. The arena became my final resting place.

 

As much as my disappearance shocked the town, as much as my absence left a hole in the lives of my friends and neighbors, eventually almost everyone’s lives returned to normal. I became little more than a cautionary tale told to children, reminding them not to talk to strangers or wander off from their parents. People grew less and less interested in finding out what actually happened to me.

 

The investigation into my disappearance stalled within weeks. With no clues other than the pink ribbon, there was really nothing the police could do. There was nowhere else to look. Based on their knowledge of other cases like mine, they were convinced that I was already dead. Katniss believes that as well; it’s the only way she could make sense of what happened. Only my mom still clings to the hope that I might be alive, since my body was never found.

 

Over the days and weeks following my death, things shifted slowly and inevitably towards this impasse. First, the police were searching for me, then for my body, then only for my killer. Now they don’t even believe that my killer will ever be brought to justice. If he hasn’t been found in six years, how will he ever be found?

 

Most of the detectives who worked on my case have come and gone over the years. The only reason any of them still remember me is because of Katniss. She’s never given up, and she’ll never let them forget.

 

She doesn’t know how badly I wish she would, though.

 

 


	2. Katniss

[](http://s1351.photobucket.com/user/madefrommemories/media/TEIB-bannercopy_zpsd414a2a8.jpg.html)

Chapter 2: Katniss

____________

_June 14, 2007_

 

“PRIM! TURN YOUR GODDAMN MUSIC DOWN!” I yell over the sickly bubblegum pop music filtering through my sister’s closed door. When there’s no answer, I turn the doorknob and poke my head inside. My sister lies stretched out on her stomach on her bed, humming along to the music. Our dog Lady lifts her head to look at me from her spot at my sister’s feet.

 

“Prim!” I yell again.

 

She jumps, startled, hastily shoving the pink book she’d been writing in under her pillow, but not before I see. “Oh my GOD, Katniss! Don’t you know how to knock?” Lucky for her, I’m not the kind of person who gives a damn what her younger sister writes in her diary.

 

I roll my eyes at her. “I _did_ knock, but you didn’t answer. You need to turn your music down. Mom is sleeping.”

 

Letting out an exaggerated sigh of frustration, she climbs off her bed and turns a knob on the top of her old CD player. The sound of girly pop subsides slightly, just enough that I can hear myself think again. 

 

“Thank you,” I say. “Are you ready to go for a walk?” At the word “walk”, Lady’s tail starts to wag frantically, thumping rhythmically against the mattress.

 

Prim sighs again, looking at her alarm clock on the bedside table. “Do I have to?" she whines. "Rory’s supposed to call me later and I don’t want to miss it!”

 

“The Hawthornes live down the street and we see them all the time. Lady’s your dog and you need to walk her.” I cross my arms over my chest. No way I’m letting her get out of walking the dog again.

 

“Ugh, fine! Then will you leave me alone?”

 

 _Jesus, when did she turn into a teenager?_ “Whatever, Prim. Just hurry up, if you want to talk to Rory and be on time for Scouts tonight.”

 

Lady follows me out of Prim’s door and down the stairs to sit with barely contained excitement by the door while I pull on my shoes and hook up her leash. She looks up at me with pleading eyes, shifting eagerly from paw to paw. She lets out a pitiful whine and I roll my eyes.

 

“Don’t look at me, it’s your owner we’re waiting for.” I watch the stairs, willing my sister to hurry her ass up before we run out of time. “C’mon, Prim,” I mutter.

 

Finally she comes down the stairs from her room, stomping altogether too loudly on the steps. I take a deep breath and decide not to waste my breath on scolding her, choosing instead to wait impatiently as she steps into her shoes. I hand her Lady’s leash, barely managing not to comment on the ridiculous pink ribbon she’s used to tie back her blonde hair into a ponytail. She looks like a teenaged Barbie doll.

 

We walk our regular route. It’s a beautiful, warm day, and I fill my lungs with the sweet summer air. I feel my face break into a smile of it’s own accord. I look across at Prim - she’s almost as tall as me, now - and see that she’s grinning, too, all teenage angst gone from her face and replaced with the sweetness that is purely Prim.

 

The ribbon in her hair isn’t ridiculous anymore. Now it suits her.

 

We don’t make it very far before we’re sweating. Thank goodness there’s a breeze. Prim starts to chatter - about Rory, about her school friends, about the neighbors, about her favorite teacher, Ms. Cresta. Lady trots happily along between and in front of us, tongue lolling from the side of her smiling mouth.

 

As we pass the convenience store, an idea strikes me. I reach out and grab Prim’s arm to stop her.

 

“I just remembered that I need to grab something in here. Just wait out here with Lady, okay?”

 

The smile drops off her face. “Katniiiiiss!” she whines. “Rory’s going to be calling later!”

 

I roll my  eyes. “I won’t be long, I promise.”

 

I duck into the store, ignoring her when she shouts after me, “If you make me miss Rory...”

 

“You’ll what?” I mutter under my breath, biting the inside of my cheek to hide my smile. Despite her newfound teenaged attitude, Prim’s sweet to her very core, and everyone knows it. The worst thing she could ever do is cry at me.

 

When I come out with two double ice cream cones, her face splits into that sweet Prim smile again. I hand her the one from my left hand, which holds one scoop of Cookies and Cream and one scoop of Bubblegum. Her favorites.

 

We can’t really afford to waste money on luxuries like this, but every once in a while, I splurge. It’s why I got Lady for Prim after Dad died, why I spend money we don’t really have on things like ice cream, even if it means buying the cheap toilet paper this week. I do it to put a smile back on Prim’s face, because she’s is the one person left in the world who I’m sure I love, and I can’t stand to see her anything but happy.

 

Seeing her grin up at me, feeling a matching smile spread across my face, makes it all worth it. I would do it again without a second thought.

 

Prim practically skips the rest of the way home, Lady bouncing along at her side. And when she gets to the end of the cone, she feeds the last inch, ice cream and all, to the dog.

 

When we get home, Prim unhooks Lady and rushes straight up to her room, the cordless phone from the kitchen in hand. “Keep it short!” I call after her up the stairs. “You’ve got Scouts in half an hour!” Her only answer is the sound of her bedroom door shutting behind her.

 

Inevitably, by the time I manage to get her off the phone with Rory, we’re running late. I’m in the truck, windows rolled down, hand on the shifter and ready to put it into reverse when Prim finally comes racing out the door and jumps in. We peel out of the driveway and down the street, and by some miraculous combination of my complete disregard for speed limits, the light afternoon traffic and lucky timing of the lights, I manage to make it to the rec center only a few minutes after the meeting has started. Everyone’s already gone inside; the parents have all driven off to do whatever it is parents do while their daughters are at Girl Scouts.

 

“I’m going to get some groceries, but I’ll be back before you get out, okay?” I say, giving her pony tail a tug. She laughs, unbuckling her seatbelt and jumping out. She calls her goodbye over her shoulder at me as she runs toward the center.

 

Shaking my head, I put the truck back in gear and head for the grocery store. My list isn’t long and I’m done early, so I take them home to put them in the fridge. When I go to head back to the center, Lady is sitting by the door, blocking my exit and giving me this pitiful look. They don’t call it “puppy dog eyes” for nothing.

 

“Fine, you spoiled mutt,” I mutter, “want to come with me to get Primmy?” and she knows she’s won when I grab her leash from the hook in the closet. Her tail doesn’t stop wagging the whole ride to the center to pick up Prim.

 

We’re early and the parking lot is still fairly empty. The sun is shining, so I park on the far side of the lot near a patch of grass, and sit down with my book beside the truck. Lady sprawls out on the ground beside me and I scratch her belly absently, the handle of her leash hooked loosely around my wrist.

 

I’m so engrossed in my book that I don’t notice the time passing until it becomes glaringly obvious that none of the parents are back to pick up their kids yet, not even the ridiculously primped and manicured blonde in her fancy SUV who looks down her nose at me every time I park the beat up old truck beside her. I glance at Dad’s watch on my wrist - it’s old and scuffed, but as reliable as it’s original owner was before he died - and now it shows me that it’s 4:27; Prim is almost half an hour late and none of the other rides have showed up yet. My stomach flip-flops uncomfortably. _What the hell’s going on?_

 

Suddenly, Lady leaps to her feet beside me; her leash is instantly tight, the leather loop at the end burning my wrist. Her head snaps left and right, looking for something, I don’t know what. She lifts her nose, sniffing. I can feel the tension in her body through the leash, and then she starts barking like mad, lunging at the end of her leash.

 

“Lady, what the hell?” I grab onto the leash with both hands and pull her close to me, wrapping my arms around her neck, struggling in vain to calm her down. I can’t see anything that would explain her sudden excitement, no cat or squirrel, no Prim. “What is it girl?” She struggles against my arms, barking all the while.

 

The hairs on the back of my neck suddenly stand up, and I feel a wash of cold down my spine. I let go of Lady, her leash slipping off my limp hand as I move shakily to my feet. A strange tingle rushes over me, settling in my arm, as if someone’s cold hand is resting there. Almost of it’s own accord, my hand extends outward as if someone is pulling it, and I feel my breath leave my body in a _whoosh._

 

“Prim?” I ask breathlessly, although I don’t know why, and as suddenly as it came, the feeling is gone.

 

I fall to my knees in the grass and Lady returns to whine and lick my face, but I’m numb and I can barely feel her tongue against my skin. It’s like she is licking someone else’s face. My belly feels empty, hollow, and I feel suddenly and shockingly alone, as if something precious has been ripped away from me, never to return.

 

That was the day my sister disappeared.

 

__________

 

_January 7, 2013_

“PRIM!”

 

I sit up in bed, my sweat soaked blankets falling down around my waist. Lady noses my hand, whining, and I reach out automatically to reassure her, even though I’m the one that could use reassuring. I draw in a shaky breath as I feel myself slowly return to the present, my body trembling with the aftershock of my dream. Blood still pours behind my eyes, ripples of the nightmare echoing forward into reality.

 

My throat is raw and I wonder how long I was screaming before I was able to shake myself free. I scrub a hand over my sweaty face. _That was years ago_ , I tell myself. _It’s not happening now_.  I recite the list of details that I know to be true, a technique that one of the doctors suggested all those years ago, starting with the simplest and working toward the more complicated.

 

_My name is Katniss Everdeen. I am twenty four years old. I live on Seam Street in the town of Panem. My dog is named Lady. She used to be my sister Prim’s dog. Prim disappeared nearly six years ago on June 14, 2007. She is believed to be dead._

 

My stomach lurches painfully. My god, was it really six years ago?

 

After I recovered from my experience (as I came to think of it), I ran to check inside the center, only to find the sign that Prim had no doubt seen only moments after I drove off. “Girl Scouts Cancelled - June 14.” The words of that sign are burned into my mind; I need only close my eyes to see them.

 

I found a payphone and called the police. They were skeptical at first; things like kidnappings and murders don't happen in Panem. They tried to insist that she probably went to a friend’s house, or went down the street to buy a magazine and would be back soon, but I was sure I knew differently. I screamed at them until they finally listened and sent a squad car just to shut me up.

 

It was no use, though. I was certain she was already dead.

By the end of the list, I’ve convinced myself that I’m in the now, not back all those years ago with Prim, drowning in blood. I glance at the clock beside my bed, rubbing my eyes until the blurriness clears and I can see the numbers: 8:13. Not too early.

 

I swing my legs over the side of the bed and grab the phone off my bedside table. I don’t even have to look at the numbers; my hand remembers the sequence from dialing this number every single Monday morning for the past six years.

 

“Panem County Police Department,” the drawling voice on the other end answers.

 

“Finnick, it’s Katniss,” I answer, my voice still scratchy from sleep and from screaming. I’m relieved that it’s him that answers; his boss, Haymitch, is a lot more difficult to deal with, especially in the morning, what with being a smelly, surly, old drunk.

 

“Happy Monday, Sunshine. How’d you sleep?”

 

I roll my eyes, even though I know he can’t see. “The way I always sleep, Finnick. Any news?”

 

“What, you mean, you didn’t call me at” - he pauses, I assume to check the clock - “8:15 on a Monday morning just to hear my voice? I’m hurt, Katniss. Hurt. I thought after all these years we were more to each other than that.”

 

I sigh directly into the phone so he hears. “Cut the crap, Finnick. Just tell me if there’s any news about Prim’s case.”

 

The false flirty tone disappears, replaced with genuine regret. “Sorry, Katniss. Still nothing.” For all his flash and flirtation, he’s okay, really. I know he wishes that he had news to tell me.

 

When it became clear that Prim really had disappeared, the police did everything they could. Haymitch was on the case from the beginning, and Finnick joined it shortly afterwards, so I got to know them pretty well. They searched and searched, interviewed everyone who could’ve possibly had any involvement - even poor Rory, who wept when they talked to him. All they found was the pink ribbon from Prim’s hair, miles away from the rec center. They tried. They really did.

 

It’s just not enough.

 

“Okay,” I answer, and the phone is halfway down to the cradle when I hear his tinny voice through the receiver yelling, “Katniss, wait!”

 

I bring the phone back up to my ear. “Yeah?”

 

“I don’t have any new information that affects the case directly but I do have something to tell you,” he says. I’m silent, waiting for him to go on. After an awkward pause, he continues, “There’s a new guy that just started today. He’s getting the grand tour from Haymitch right now.”

 

I sigh. I don’t see what this has to do with Prim. “Yeah, so?”

 

“So,” Finnick continues, and I can almost _hear_ that megawatt smile behind his words, “he’s being assigned to look at some of the older cases, to see if he can dig up anything new. Cases like Primrose’s. Fresh set of eyes, and all that.”

 

My heart leaps at the sound of her name on his lips. _They’re looking at her case again..._ “This new guy, is he good?”

 

He laughs. “Well, not as good as me, but he’ll do. Seriously though, I grew up with him. He’s a great guy and a good cop. He’s smart. Maybe he’ll be able to bring a fresh take on things. If there’s anything there that we missed, I’m sure he’ll find it.”

 

“Thanks, Finnick,” I say. “Keep me posted.”

 

“I always do. Take care, Katniss.”

 

I hang up the phone carefully, my heart thumping in my ribcage as I process this information. A new cop, a new set of eyes. Finnick sounded pretty optimistic about him. I feel a strange rush of elation. Is that hope? I’d forgotten what that felt like. Six years of hope wasted will do that to a person.

 

Lady whines and paws at me, jolting me out of my reverie. “Okay, okay. I’m getting up.” I dress in jeans and a soft, well worn t-shirt, brushing my hair and winding it into its customary braid down my back to keep it out of my face. My bedroom door creaks when I open it and I make a mental note to pick up some oil for the hinges after payday.

 

I glance down the hall at my mother’s closed door. She hasn’t stirred, not even when I screamed in my sleep. I’ve had this nightmare so many times that my mom doesn’t even bother to ask me if I’m okay, let alone come and check on me. Then again, she barely ever does anything anymore besides go through the motions, and keeps to her room as much as I’ll let her.

 

There are two ghosts in the Everdeen house these days. One is the memory of my sister, haunting me in everything I do. The other is my mom.

 

I let Lady out in the yard to go to the bathroom and my long day starts. I have a banana for breakfast, standing at the sink while I eat, after which I wash last night’s dishes, leaving them to dry in the rack on the counter. I do several loads of laundry and vacuum the house from top to bottom, except my mom’s room. A microwave pizza becomes my lunch, and after eating, it’s time for Lady’s walk.

 

This is my life. Waking up from nightmares, calling the police station, taking care of the house, walking the dog, and every minute of every day, even when I’m asleep, missing my sister and wondering what happened to her.

 

Speaking of the dog, she’s nowhere to be seen. “Lady?” I call, but she doesn’t appear. I check her dog bed by the couch, under the table, at both the front and back doors. Finally, I pad up the stairs. Mom’s door is still shut, but the door at the other end of the hall, the one we normally leave closed, is open a few inches. The one that used to be my sister’s. I must’ve left the door ajar when I vacuumed earlier.

 

I don’t have to check my bedroom. I know where the dog is.

 

I push open the door to Prim’s room and step inside. The corner of her bright pink diary still peeks out from under the pillow and the CD that had been playing that day is still in the CD player. It’s still exactly as she left it the day she disappeared, but stretched out across her bed where Prim had been sprawled that day, is Lady. “Come here,” I call her softly, patting my leg. She looks forlornly at me, her dark eyes echoing all the questions I wish that I could ask, too. _Where is Prim? What happened to her? Why isn’t she here?_

 “C’mon, girl. Let’s go for a walk.” This gets Lady out of the bed and she pads softly past me out the door. I shut the door behind us, sealing up all the questions and loneliness inside the empty room.

 

We walk our usual route, and as always, Prim’s absence feels like a knife in my stomach. There’s the field where we made snow angels with Daddy when we were kids. There’s the yard that we lost our ball in one day when we were playing with the Hawthornes, and Gale had to climb the fence to get it. There’s the tree that blooms with lilacs in the spring that Prim loved to stop and smell.

 

And there’s the shop that I bought her ice cream from that day, Cookies and Cream and Bubblegum. I don’t go in there anymore, even though they have the best ice cream. I don’t even eat ice cream anymore.

 

Back at home, I shower for work and dress in the black pants and white button down that are the standard dress code at the bar, then whip up a quick dinner of rotini pasta with tomato sauce out of a jar. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s cheap and easy.

 

“Mom! Dinner’s ready!” I call loudly up the stairs. When she doesn’t appear, I sigh and trudge up to her room. Without bothering to knock, I turn the knob and open her door. The air in her room smells stale, stagnant. She’s facing away from the door, curtains drawn, her lank blonde hair spread out on the pillow.

 

“Mom, I made dinner. Come eat.”

 

She opens her eyes and turns slightly to look at me. “I’m not hungry.”

 

I take a deep breath and dig my nails into my palm, fighting the urge to scream at her. “I don’t care. You have to eat.” I pray that today isn’t one of the days that she decides to fight me. “Get up.”

 

Thankfully, she sits up slowly and climbs out of her bed. As she passes by me on her way out the door, her eyes flicker to mine and then down again, but not before I see the empty look in the watery blue irises.

 

When Dad died when I was fifteen, Mom had a really hard time. She kept her job, but only because I had to stay in school and couldn’t work enough to support us. I had to take on a lot of the responsibilities, buying the groceries and cleaning the house and making sure Prim got to school and Girl Scouts on time. But when Prim was taken, my mother completely lost what little will to live she had left. She probably would’ve starved herself to death, but I wouldn’t let her. I wasn’t going to have her death on my head, too.

 

We sit on opposite sides of the table, not meeting each others’ eyes, not speaking. The only sound in that lonely kitchen is the sound of our cutlery scraping on our bowls as we eat. When we’re finished, I put the dishes in the sink for me to wash tomorrow morning. My mother, of course, does nothing, and when I let myself out of the house and lock the door behind me, I release a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

 

My dad’s beat up old truck sits in the driveway. The green paint is rusting, and it’s at least a couple decades out of date, but my best friend Gale and I have kept it running since our fathers died nine years ago, and I’d be willing to bet that it runs better than some new vehicles. I can’t afford a new car, and I don’t want one, anyway. I turn the key in the ignition and the old thing chugs to life, faithful as always.

 

The bar where I work is a bit of a dump, but it’s a job and it pays the bills.  Before Prim, I was going to be a botanist. Had a scholarship and everything. Botany was a field that was made for me. Plants don’t call you “baby” or try to cop a feel or throw up on you, all things that have happened to me while working at The Hob. I didn’t have a choice, though. I had to keep us alive.

 

But like I said, it’s a job, and most nights it’s not bad. The other bartenders are cool, especially Cinna, who is kind, smart and gay as the day is long. If I had time for friends, I would consider him one of them.

 

And some nights, like tonight, Gale comes to visit me.

 

As my best friend crosses the room to the bar where I’m standing, the eyes of all the women in the room watch him with interest. They don’t look too discouraged when he walks right up to the bar and sits down in front of me, and why should they? With our straight dark hair and grey eyes, we look like we could be siblings. Besides, there’s nothing between Gale and me except our dead dads, who perished in the same coal mine explosion. Once upon a time, maybe there could have been something, but I haven’t had time for relationships since Prim died.

 

“Hey, Catnip,” he says, resting his long forearms on the bar.

 

“Hey, Gale,” I answer, automatically mixing him his usual Jack and Coke. He nods his thanks when I deposit it in front of him. “What are you doing here?”

 

“I’m meeting someone,” he says, tipping his glass back to take a big swallow.

 

The corner of my mouth twitches. “Another one?”

 

“Just because you’ve decided to commit yourself to a life of granny panties doesn’t mean the rest of us have,” he shoots back at me with a grin.

 

I glare at him, feeling the blood rush to my cheeks. “Whatever.”

 

“Great come back, Catnip. Really top notch.” His stupid grin spreads across his whole face and I have a sudden urge to splash his own drink at him, just to get rid of that dumb smile. I busy myself drying glasses to quell the urge.

 

“Hey, Posy wants to go skiing this weekend. Do you want to come?”

 

I’m shaking my head before he’s even done speaking. “Can’t. I have to work all weekend.” I love Gale’s sister Posy but I just don’t have time. Or money, for that matter.

 

He sighs. “Really? You work every weekend. Couldn’t you just come for a few hours? It would mean a lot to her, Katniss.”

 

“You know I can’t, Gale. Drop it.”

 

His mouth hardens into a tight line. “Fine, but think about doing something with us soon. Take a night off. We miss you.” He glances around and sees a tall, pretty girl with white blonde hair walking in the door. “Gotta go, Catnip. That’s her.” He tips his glass back and downs the rest of his drink, slapping a five on the bar between us.

 

“Well she looks _nice_ ,” I mumble sarcastically, too low for him to hear as he approaches his date. I scowl at their backs as they walk away.

 

It’s all well and good for Gale to go on dates and have a sex life and relationships, and to go skiing for the day whenever he feels like it. When I left behind my scholarship and the botany program to work at this place, Gale got to go away and become an environmental engineer. He can afford to waste his time on getting laid and dicking around while I’m working my ass off to put food on the table. And even though our dads died in the same mine accident, he doesn’t really understand loss, at least not the way I do.

 

All of Gale’s siblings are still alive.

 

“You here to work, or just to stare? Jealousy is very unbecoming, you know.” A good humored voice interrupts my reverie. I turn around to see Cinna watching me, with one hand on his slim hip and the other brandishing a Yeungling in my direction.

 

“To work,” I grumble, reaching out a hand for the drink. “And I’m not jealous.” He jerks the bottle away from me for a minute as his eye roves up and down my body appraisingly. I cross my arms over my chest with a sigh. “What, Cinna?”

 

“Really outdid yourself with the ensemble tonight, didn’t you?” he chirps jokingly.

 

I snatch the beer out of his hand as his face breaks into a grin. “This is the dress code, remember?”

 

He laughs. “No one pays attention to those rules and you know it. One of these days you’ve got to let me work my magic. Maybe if you showed your potential, let yourself shine, you could get a couple dates like your handsome friend.”

 

I glare at him. “Whatever, Cinna. I love you but I’m not wearing a skirt to work in a bar. And you know his name is Gale.” I point at the bottle I’m holding. “Can you just tell me what I’m supposed to do with this?”

 

Still smiling, he waves a long-fingered hand toward the back of the bar. “It’s for the cute blonde guy in the booth over there.”

 

I raise my eyebrows skeptically. “Aren’t cute blonde men _your_ specialty?”

 

“Alas, this one’s from the other side of the tracks, if you know what I mean.” He shoots me a ridiculous wink. “Just take the man his drink, woman.”

 

I roll my eyes, hiding a smile, and scoot out from behind the bar, bottle in hand. I can’t tell if the guy in question is cute; he’s hunched over his table, his forehead braced in his hand and eyes down cast. I don’t recognize him, and I feel a familiar thrill rush through me, a warning as if of danger that I get whenever someone new comes in. Could it be him? Is _this one_ finally him, the man who took Prim? It’s a familiar worry, and so far its been wrong every time, but I always keep them at a distance anyway. 

 

His hair, which is indeed blonde, is mussed as if he’s been running his hands through it over and over again. He’s in his own little world, and when I walk up to the table, at first he doesn’t even realize I’m there.

 

I deposit the bottle on the table in front of him, and he finally drops his hand to look up at me. A tired but genuine smile touches his lips. “Thanks so much,” he says, reaching out to take the bottle from me.

 

His eyes are blue like the sky was on the worst day of my life, filled with warmth, and as they meet mine, I’m transfixed, frozen. My hand shakes as I take the money he offers me. Who is this guy? What is he doing here? And why, when I look at him, am I suddenly and inexplicably reminded of my dead sister?

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone who has reviewed, followed and favorited this story! We are blown away by the positive response we have received already and want to thank you all for your comments and feedback!
> 
> A big thank you as well to sunfishdunes for her awesome beta skills and to desertginger and jennagill for pre-reading! You ladies are awesome.
> 
> Keep an eye out for Chapter 3 which will be coming on Thursday; the first chapter from our favorite baker! Come follow us on tumblr: I'm madefrommemoriesff and my co-conspirators are soamazinghere (Prim) and loveforpanem (Peeta)!


	3. Peeta

[](http://s1351.photobucket.com/user/madefrommemories/media/TEIB-bannercopy_zpsd414a2a8.jpg.html)

This is the second morning in a row that I’ve stepped out of the shower and almost slipped on the tile floor.

For most people, that would be an indicator that I need to finish unpacking or at least pull out more than the one towel I’ve been using for two days already. But the blissful simplicity of bachelorhood allows me such indiscretions and the ball of nervous energy in the pit of my stomach keeps me from focusing on anything other than starting my new job today.

I wipe off the foggy medicine cabinet mirror above my bathroom’s only sink. This old house doesn’t have an exhaust fan and I wasn’t really interested in cracking a window just to have the frigid January air slap me in the face the second I step out of the shower.  

The first Monday of the new year is the perfect time to start a new career and pretty much a new life. I’ve worked hard to get to this point, and now that it’s here, I’m constantly asking myself if this is real or not. Making the decision to move from Pittsburgh to the sleepy little suburb of Panem was a relatively easy choice. I already had a friend here and my dream job was being dangled in front of me, so how could I refuse? I just don’t think I realized how big of a change it would be.

For one thing, the quiet is almost deafening.

I was used to my embarrassingly small fifth floor apartment and all of the noises downtown Pittsburgh had to offer - sirens at three a.m., my upstairs neighbors arguing in a foreign language as I fell asleep, and the car alarm down the street that no one cared to turn off. These were the sounds of comfort to me, but now all I have is silence. I barely slept last night.

I lose track of time while I’m brushing my teeth, caught in the daydream of my now past life. I look down at my cell phone to check the time and curse to myself when I see I have exactly twelve minutes until I absolutely have to leave. Meaning I can pretty much forget about the cup of coffee I was going to make before I left, regardless of how proud of myself I was for actually unpacking the coffee maker last night.

After spitting out my mouth wash, I walk out of my bathroom and toss my lone towel on the bed. I pilfer through the cardboard boxes stacked around my room and grab clean boxers and an undershirt, and thank god that there isn’t anyone watching me rummage through boxes of my belongings bare-ass naked.

I’ve lost another five minutes by the time I get my underclothes on and I pull my older brother Rye’s charcoal grey suit out of the closet. The job offer and move happened so quickly, I haven’t even had a chance to get ready for any of this. Wearing my brother’s borrowed suits is a far cry from the black, standard issue uniform I wore everyday for almost eight years. I know this seems like such a small thing, but for someone like me, who has basically put everything on hold to pursue a career and who has become such a creature of habit, any small deviation from the life I had been leading is a huge change. I thought I would feel like I could finally breathe, that I’ve finally crossed the finish line. But now, I have this sinking feeling that the real race is about to begin.

My nerves are getting the better of me and it feels like it is taking forever to get dressed this morning. Once my shoes are tied, I go to grab my blazer, only to realize that I forgot to put on my holster. I slip my arms through the leather straps, secure my handgun, and drape my tie around my neck. Picking up the jacket from the bed, I run out the door, grabbing my keys along the way.

There is a light dusting of snow on the ground and I let out a deep sigh when I walk around to the driver’s side of the old Crown Vic that I’ve been given by the Panem County Police Department. Its dated deep maroon paint and slightly dented doors are just a reminder how low on the totem pole I am at this new station. I can remember Finnick’s huge shit-eating grin when he handed me the key and pointed to my assigned vehicle. _Now, don’t pick up too many women in this thing, it’s not professional._  He told me with his trademark smile and low taunting voice. Not that I think I’m some kind of chick magnet or even had the time for anything like that lately, but I can’t really imagine the kind of woman who would drop her panties at the site of this old heap, nor do I think I’d want to.

I slide into the driver’s seat and take a deep breath before cranking her up and turning on the heater. For a department vehicle, it reeks of stale body odor and alcohol-tinged vomit. I can only assume this is from witnesses being taken to the station and hopefully not from the previous driver.

The drive to the station is surprisingly short. My little rental house on Merchant Avenue is only about three miles away, so I’m relieved that even though I was running a little later than I intended, I’ll still get there on time. And I know I will get there before the never punctual, Finnick Odair.   

The station itself is nothing to write home about. The old stone building has probably always served as the city’s only police station. My department is on the third floor and after this morning, I have decided to take the stairs from now on. The elevator creaks and moans on its slow journey up and the flickering lights and staticy muzak are a little unnerving. The elevator doors open up to pale green walls, old metal desks, and a few sectioned-off offices encased in safety glass that line the perimeter of the large room.

I walk through the maze of desks to the one that has the nameplate that reads Det. Mellark. I pick it up and slide my fingers across the cool brass plate, letting out the breath I was holding. A wave of relief passes over me, and the scared little boy inside of me finally feels safe and validated. Safe from the abusive mother who led him to this career; a career that would help traumatized children by holding their abusers accountable. Validated knowing that all the hard work, the late nights patrolling the roughest parts of Pittsburgh, the days upon days of dealing with drunks, druggies, and countless gang murderers, have all paid off.

The smell of fresh coffee breaks me from my trance and I look around the office until I spot a small kitchen area. My stomach growls the second I get to the counter and see a bright pink box with an open lid revealing a dozen doughnuts.

Cliche be damned, I fucking love doughnuts.

My family owns a bakery; in fact, it was always thought that I would take over when my father finally decided to retire. But I wanted away from my mother and decided on a different vocation. Thankfully, my oldest brother stepped in and is still working there with Dad now. My father always joked that it was his doughnuts that led me to a life of police work, but like a good son, I would bite my tongue instead of telling him it was that shrew of a wife he had who really made me pursue my job.

I shove a chocolate cake doughnut in my mouth and grab the coffee mug closest to me, filling it with coffee and cream.

Making my way back to my desk, I spot Finnick coming out of the stairwell. He flashes me a smile and puts his finger in the air signaling he'll be just a moment before gliding into the office directly behind my desk. I plop down into my chair and shove a large bite of pastry in my mouth before taking a sip, of what I quickly learn, is very strong coffee.

Finnick sits down on top of my desk and stares down at me, "Well, I see you've made yourself comfortable with Beetee's doughnuts and coffee."

I nod triumphantly.

He squints his eyes at me, "What the hell are you doing with my mug?"

I smile behind the cup when I bring it to my lips and take another slow drag of my drink. "Nah, brought it from home."

"It has my son's handprints on it and it literally says for Daddy on the bottom."

I actually look at it for the first time and see the bright blue and green handprints against white porcelain staring right at me. "I've been meaning to talk to you about that. You know how I have a thing for dark haired girls, and Annie is pretty hot."

Finnick snatches the mug from my hand. "You know, pretending to be my kid's dad would be funny if he didn't look like a miniature version of me." He looks down at the contents and finishes it off, "Fuck that's gross. Put some sugar in it next time."

I laugh and we both turn our heads when one of the office doors swing open and a very haggard and disheveled man in a wrinkled brown suit steps out. "Keep your goddamn voices down! I've got a fucking headache."

The man - who honestly looks like a bum I had to arrest several times back home - runs his hand through his stringy, dark hair and looks in my direction. "Who the fuck are you?"

I open my mouth to answer, but before I get a word out, Finnick jumps off my desk and walks toward the man. "Calm down Haymitch, this is Detective Peeta Mellark. I told you he was starting today."

Haymitch nods his head in understanding. "Right. Well, come on boy, I'll give you the grand tour as soon as you fetch me a cup of black coffee."

I furrow my brow in confusion. Getting coffee is my job now?

Finnick's voice turns serious. "You heard Detective Abernathy. Rookie, get your ass up and get him some coffee."

"And grab me a doughnut, too, kid," Haymitch tells me as I hop up and walk back to the kitchen.

I can hear the phone ring and see Finnick and Haymitch give each other a pointed look. I hand Haymitch his food and he takes it from me briskly. "Come on boy, let him answer that. I'll show you around."

I watch Finnick answer the phone, "Panem County Police Department." He pauses for a moment and happily replies to the person on the other line, “Happy Monday, Sunshine. How’d you sleep?”

Haymitch clears his throat, "Do you need an invitation, or can we get started now?"

I follow Haymitch out of the office as he begins his "grand tour," which consists of us walking into the hallway and turning our heads in a couple of different directions. He points out the locations of the bathrooms, the interrogation room, a small lab, and the single holding cell on this floor.

"I know it's not what you're used to, coming from the city, but we don't exactly see too much action in our department." He takes a large gulp of his drink and a huge bite of his glazed doughnut. When he speaks again, he showers me in crumbs and spit. "Oh, and give me back my fucking keys."

Now I'm really confused. "Your keys, sir?"

"Yeah, my fucking car keys. I don't know why that son of a bitch Odair thinks its so goddamn funny giving my car to the new guys."

I reach in my pocket and pull the key and remote off my key chain. I place them in his hand. "Does that mean I don't have a car, sir?"

He narrows his eyes at me, "First, stop with all of this sir bullshit. Second, yes, you do get a car. It's out back. I think it's a black Taurus. Ask Odair for the keys and don't drive my car ever again. I've had her for over 15 years and I like her better than you."

I nod, thankful to be rid of that disgusting vehicle. I follow Haymitch back to the office while the realization of why that car smelled like it did hits me - my new boss is a drunk.

We pass by Finnick's office when I hear him call out, "Hey Peeta, come in here."

I look over at Haymitch as he continues to walk away from me, mumbling something to himself about how he doesn't have time to mentor all these asshole kids. I sigh before stepping into Finnick's office, dreading what it's going to be like working for such a hardened old man like Haymitch.

"Have a seat." Finnick points to one of the two chairs in front of his desk. "Sorry about calling you out in front of Haymitch, but sometimes you just have to appease the old man before he'll do anything for you." A smile sweeps over his face. "So, how was his "grand tour?" Did he regale you with stories from his years on the force? Reminisce about all the young detectives he had the pleasure of watching come through these hallowed halls? Or did he give a young buck like you some sage advice to start your new career?"

I snort, "Oh, don't worry about the coffee thing, it's not my first time being the new guy. I figured I'd have to take a few steps back in seniority when I got here. And as for the tour, I believe the only thing I got from him was that he didn't really care to mentor any more kids."

"Yeah, that sounds about right," Finnick chuckled.

I lean in closer to his desk and whisper, "He did tell me one piece of useful information, though."

"What's that?"

"That apparently you gave me his car keys."

\------------------

After we get the car situation taken care of, and I receive a much newer, less dented, better smelling Taurus, we head back inside to go over my first assignment.

Finnick slaps a huge stack of files on my desk. "Here you go, Rookie. Your first assignment."

My eyes widen at the number of files placed in front of me. "What is all of this?"

"These are files that need to be closed. They've gone cold and we need to tie up some loose ends. There are a couple in there that, if someone new gives them a once over, may be able to be pursued again. Most of them are dead hookers or homeless guys, but they deserve the same amount of respect as any of the others. Take your time with these and really see if there is anything else to go on. If you have any questions, I'll be in the office right behind you. Don't hesitate to ask; between Haymitch and I, we've worked on all of these at some point."

I nod in understanding and reach for the first three files. I flip through them and realize I must have gotten a hold of the dead hooker stack. Glimmer, Cashmere, and Gloss just don't sound like your standard Christian names. And from the outfits and compromised positions they were found in, I'm assuming they weren't on their way to bible study group, either. I decide to set those aside for now and keep digging deeper into the pile.

Honestly, it does start getting a little depressing as I go through each file and see these sad individuals who were killed without anyone being held accountable for their deaths. I set aside a few more before I get to the last file, the one for Primrose Everdeen. I open the manila folder and rummage through the contents - photographs of evidence, the rec building where she was supposed to be, and a few other suspected locations. Finally, as I lay my eyes on the picture of the young blonde girl, I feel a sudden chill run down my spine and the creepy sensation that someone is standing next to me. I can't explain it, but I get this overwhelming sense of urgency to find out more about this case. This girl.

I feel a little sick to my stomach as I start flipping through pages upon pages of notes for this case. I look at the date: June 14, 2007. This case is almost six years old, why is it still open? I glance back at the notes and see three pages of phone calls placed from a Katniss Everdeen, the most recent entered just this morning.

I walk into Finnick's office with the file in hand. "Hey, what's going on with this Everdeen case?"

Finnick sighs, "So, you got to that one, huh?"

I sit down in front of him and he proceeds to explain everything to me: how this young girl went missing after her sister dropped her off for a Girl Scouts meeting, all of the searches the community did, and the only piece of evidence recovered being a pink ribbon she had in her hair the day she disappeared.

"There were a few people interviewed, such as her boyfriend and a couple of the neighbors, but nothing came of it. We have no leads. The only reason the case stays open is because of that sister of hers.” He rubs his forehead in frustration. “We should have shut it years ago, but she is so persistent, and out of respect for Katniss, we keep it open. She calls here first thing every Monday morning, without fail. She's either crazy or the most determined person I've ever met. But, if you ask Haymitch, she's just a pain in the ass." Finnick smirks, "Trust me, you'll quickly learn all about the oldest Everdeen daughter. That family is just a walking sad story. Two pretty girls: one missing, the other closed off. A father killed in a mining accident a couple years before the youngest disappeared, and a mother that checked out a long time ago. It's sad, but you can probably find ten other tragic stories in that shithole of rowhouses over on Seam Street."

I rub the back of my neck, going over everything Finnick just told me.

"Hey, Peet, it's been a long day already. After you get off tonight, come have dinner with Annie and me. How about 6 o'clock?"

I get up from the chair and nod, "Yeah Finnick, that sounds good." Clutching the folder in my hand I head back to my desk and keep researching the case of Primrose Everdeen for the rest of the day.

\--------------

After work, I quickly run home to get changed into jeans and a hoodie, and stop by a small liquor store to grab a bottle of wine for Annie before I reach their house.

They live in a new home, but it’s not sterile or cookie-cutter like some of the larger subdivisions in town. It’s obvious that a child lives here with them, given the few toys in the front yard and chalk drawings on the pathway to the front door. There is an inviting yellow glow coming from inside the house, making it look warm and full of love.

I barely knock twice on the red front door before Annie swings it open and I have a wild, bronze-haired four-year-old in my arms. I would have dropped the bottle of wine if Annie hadn’t been there to catch it. From her cat-like reflexes, it’s obvious that she’s used to cleaning up the havoc that this little guy causes.

“Uncle Peeta, you’re here!”

I smile at him while he wraps his small arms tightly around my neck. “Hey buddy, you’ve been keeping out of trouble?”

His sea green eyes light up and he nods his head excitedly while holding up three chubby little fingers. “I only got in trouble three times today!”

Annie walks over and gives me a quick kiss on the cheek while holding her arms out to take him from me. “It’s a personal record, isn’t it Patrick?” He jumps over to her and Annie grunts with the sudden weight in her arms. “Come on in Peeta, it’s so nice to see you. Dinner is ready if you want to go ahead and sit down at the table.”

I walk into the dining room and see Finnick already at the table spooning pasta onto everyone’s plate. “Hey, I thought I heard you come in. Sorry, it’s nothing fancy, but Patrick is getting a little picky about what he eats. I think this is the third night in a row we’ve had spaghetti.”

I smile, “It’s new to me, and really, I’m just happy to get a home-cooked meal. I haven’t really had time to cook for myself lately.”

Just about the time I sit down to the table, Patrick comes bouncing in and hops into the chair next to me, while Annie gives Finnick a quick kiss before taking her seat.

I look over at Annie and she smiles before asking me, “So Peeta, we haven’t seen you since Christmas, how have you been?”

In between bites, I look over at her. Annie really is a beautiful woman. Her bright green eyes are striking against her pale skin and long, dark, wavy hair. She has a gentle, ethereal quality and grace that many women just don’t possess. It suited her well when she was a schoolteacher, but she quit before moving to Pittsburgh, where she met Finnick. I never really knew why she left her job; she seemed like a natural for teaching to me.

“I’m doing well. Obviously, it’s been a little crazy with the move and new job, but it’s good.”

Finnick interjects before taking a large bite of food, “We put him on the Everdeen case today.”

Annie stiffens at his comment. “Oh, that’s good to hear. Hopefully you can bring some closure for Katniss. I know she needs that.”

The room becomes awkwardly silent for a moment and the only sound is the noise our forks make on our plates.

That is until we hear the muffled smack of a handful of spaghetti hitting the wall and the loud cackle of Patrick enjoying his new work of art.

Finnick and Annie yell in unison, “Patrick Conner Odair!”

At this point, all hell breaks loose. The second Patrick hears his full name, his eyes instantly glass over and he starts to scream, knowing of the impending punishment. Annie throws her arms into the air in exasperation before roughly pushing the double swing door into the kitchen, “I just cleaned marker off that wall this afternoon!”

I take the opportunity to shove a couple more bites of food in my mouth while Finnick tosses Patrick over his shoulder and takes him upstairs, kicking and screaming.

The door from the kitchen swings open, and Annie marches in with a handful of cleaner and towels. I jump up from my seat and help her scrub the bright orange-red mess from the aqua paint on the wall.

We both turn our heads toward the ceiling when we hear a thud, followed by the thumping of little feet running around upstairs. Finnick is yelling threats of no dessert and early bedtimes while we listen to Patrick giggling and squealing with delight at being chased.

Annie sprays more cleaner, "I have never seen a child so gleeful over attention like him, whether it's good or bad."

I let out a short burst of laughter. "Um, how about your husband when he was just a little older than Patrick? Just ask Rye, he has the best stories about it. Everything Patrick is doing is payback for the kid Finnick used to be. Sorry, you're just an innocent bystander."

She lets out a deep sigh and nods her head. "I know."

We both flinch when Finnick yells, "That's it, you're taking a bath and going to bed, now!"

Whatever screaming was done earlier is no comparison to the ungodly screeching that follows.

Annie slumps her shoulders, takes the towel from my hands, and stands up. "Peeta, I hate to kick you out, but I don't think you want to be here for the showdown that is bathtime. It was so good to see you and please come back again. But right now, I suggest you go."

I get up and watch Annie walk upstairs. Turning quickly, I head for the table, scarf down a couple more bites of now-cold spaghetti, and take two pieces of garlic bread for the road.

They don’t even notice me leaving and I can still hear Patrick screaming from the driveway. I also have a splitting headache and could really use a drink.

I don’t blame Finnick and Annie for Patrick’s behavior, he’s just always been a handful. He reminds me so much of Finnick when he was little; it’s just in the kid’s DNA. I can remember him and my brother Rye running through the bakery together and getting in trouble. They were partners in crime and usually took me along for the ride. I seemed to get most of the punishment for it, but for a long time, that was just my secret. Well, my mom’s, too. I never blamed them, though.

Actually, I always looked up to Finnick. When I was younger, I thought he was the coolest kid I ever met; confident, smart, and good looking. As I got a little older, I respected his hard work and dedication as a police officer. Now, he is what I hope to be as a husband and father one day. He’s always been a role model for me and I’m really thankful that I get to learn from him at work.

It doesn’t take me long to find a bar on the way home. It’s just a hole-in-the-wall type place called The Hob. There is barely anyone here, but it is only 7:00 on a Monday night. I find an open booth in the corner and take a seat. I can tell I’m already going to like this place; they actually have pretzels on the tables.

“Hey sugar, can I get you something?” I’m slightly startled by the deep voice that calls me “sugar.” I look up and see a slender black man with short hair, gold eyeliner and - the only word for it is ‘fabulous’ - purple button-up shirt. He slightly juts out his hip and sets his hand on top of it.

I clear my throat, “Um, just a Yuengling, please.”

He winks at me, “Sure thing, baby.” He sashays over to the bar and talks to someone I can’t see past the few people who are sitting at the bar. I turn my attention to the table and become entranced by the wood grain and the things carved into it.

It’s been a long day, but my mind keeps going back to the Primrose Everdeen case. My brain keeps telling me to drop this: the case is dead and I need to focus on one that I might actually be able to help solve. But there is this strange feeling in my gut that won't let me drop it. I can’t figure out the effect it has on me and that feeling I had when I looked at the file for the first time today. I swear it felt like someone was standing next to me and I just can’t shake it. It’s very unnerving and I don’t know what to do. The only thing I do know is that I am going to figure this out.  _All_  of it. If not for myself, than for this girl and her poor family.

I run my fingers through my hair; it’s always been a nervous habit of mine. My hair is the longest it’s been in years. I was about to get it cut again before the job offer, but now that I don’t have to keep it so short, I’ve been letting it grow out again. My blonde curls will soon get annoying and distracting, but I’d like to see how long I can go without having to mess with it.

I don’t even notice that anyone is standing next to me until I hear the familiar clink of a beer bottle being set down on the table. I never even heard the footsteps. I drop my hand and look up to thank whoever brought me my drink. “Thanks so much,” I say as I take the bottle from her before even focusing in on who it is I’m looking at. My eyes catch hers and I am mesmerized by them. I can’t tell if it’s the lighting, but I swear they are grey, almost silver. I’ve never seen anything like it. She is absolutely stunning and my throat goes a little dry as I fumble with my wallet trying to get out some cash to pay for the drink. I try to swallow but find it difficult as I hand her a five dollar bill, looking up at her and trying to take in as much of her image as I can. Her eyes narrow slightly at me and a scowl forms on her lips. And, like an idiot, I can’t help but think it’s adorable. My eyes follow her long, dark braid down her lithe body and I chastise myself for practically ogling this woman.

What’s weird is that I feel like I’ve seen her before, or someone who looks like her. There are so many questions running through my head right now: _Who is she? What is she doing working in a place like this? I don't see a wedding band, I wonder if she's seeing anyone? How many times a week can I come into this bar before she thinks I’m an alcoholic?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: I would like to thank everyone that has taken the time to read, review, reblog, and give kudos to this story. The support means so much to all three of us and we truly do appreciate it. This has been such an amazing experience, and I would also like to thank my co-authors for taking on this project with me. Writing with these two incredible women has been such a wonderful experience and I really do look forward to every new chapter we have to write.
> 
>  
> 
> I would also like to thank our beta sunfishdunes for keeping us in line and making sure this whole thing is cohesive. And a big thank you to our pre-readers, jennagill and desertginger, who have given such excellent insight on how our story is perceived.
> 
>  
> 
> Look out for Chapter 4, featuring Prim, coming soon! Come follow us on tumblr! I’m loveforpanem and the other two lovely ladies writing with me are soamazinghere and madefrommemoriesff. Drop us a line, we’d love to hear from you!


	4. Primrose

[](http://s1351.photobucket.com/user/madefrommemories/media/TEIB-bannercopy_zpsd414a2a8.jpg.html)

Chapter 4: Primrose

__________

 

Can you believe that I didn’t even realize I was dead until I got here?

 

Of course, at that point, I didn’t even know where “here” was. And I’m still not completely sure. I thought, or at least I’d always been taught, that there were two places where people went after they died: heaven or hell. This place doesn’t seem like either.

 

All I know is this: after I was killed, after I touched my sister while I fled, and after I finally stopped running, I found myself in a place that looked an awful lot like home. Well...that might be overstating things. Let’s just say that if I thought that heaven was full of white clouds and angels and pearly gates, I was completely wrong. What I actually discovered here looked a lot more like Panem.

 

I found myself on a quiet street with a row of identical brown brick houses. Rowhouses, kind of like my house on Seam Street. But that’s where the similarities ended. These houses looked well-kept and newly-constructed, with tidy front yards and colorful little gardens. A far cry from the peeling paint, broken window shutters, and patchy brown lawns that were common back home. It was like someone had taken my neighborhood and cleaned it up. It made me strangely happy to see.

 

But before I had any time to get my bearings, I was startled by a commotion in the house nearest to me. I whipped my head to the side just in time to see the front door burst open and a small, energetic woman hurrying out. “Primrose!” she called, rushing down the stairs towards me. She stopped in front of me and put her hands on my arms, mustering her best sympathetic smile. “Come inside, please. We’ve been waiting for you.”

 

“Okay,” I said immediately, not even considering the fact that I had no idea where I was or why this strange woman was asking me to come into her house.

 

Seeing _her_ should’ve been my first clue that I wasn’t in Panem anymore.

 

Everything about the way she looked was just...unreal. I’d never seen anything like it in real life, only in the fashion magazines that I’d flip through in the grocery store sometimes while Katniss was shopping. Her hair was blonde, but not straw-colored like mine; hers was almost white. I would guess that it was pretty long, but I couldn’t tell because it was pinned up on top of her head in an elaborate updo that looked like something high school girls wore to the prom. And her dress was made of a gauzy, blue fabric that flowed around her as she walked. It left one shoulder bare and fell just below her knees. She looked completely put-together and flawless, like _no one_ I’d ever seen in Panem.

 

We entered the house and the woman led me to a small, cozy living room, directing me to sit in an easy chair. I did as I was asked, but I was growing more and more confused with every passing second. I slowly opened and closed my mouth several times, trying and failing to formulate a question, when the woman finally spoke. “Welcome, welcome,” she began enthusiastically, “I’m Effie Trinket, and I’ll be your escort while you’re here, Primrose.” She sat down in a chair across from me and folded her hands carefully in her lap, looking at me expectantly.

 

We stared at each other silently for a moment before I realized that she was waiting for me to speak. “Um...alright?” I squeaked hesitantly.

 

She reached forward and patted my hand where it lay on the armrest. “I imagine you have some questions for me, don’t you?”

 

Probably about a million of them, but my mind was such a jumble at that point that I was drawing a blank. “Yes, I do,” I lied, stalling as I tried to calm myself. I gripped the chair’s armrest tightly and picked the first question I could think of. “Where am...” I began, but I trailed off as my memories of what just happened came flooding back. And suddenly I knew the answer to my question. “Oh,” I breathed.

 

“That’s right - you’re in heaven!” Effie said brightly, gesturing around her as if this living room, complete with a sofa, two armchairs, and even a television, should _obviously_ make anyone think “heaven.”

 

But despite everything, her obvious enthusiasm made me start to smile. I bit my lip and looked around, taking in the room. “This isn’t what I imagined heaven would be like,” I admitted.

 

“Well, ‘heaven’ might not be the right word,” she agreed. “But it’s what we tell people to help them understand. All you need to know right now is that I’m here to make sure you learn _everything_ you need to know about this place.”

 

I nodded slowly, and let myself start to relax. “Thank you,” I told her sincerely. I wasn’t even sure what I was thanking her for, but something about Effie was very reassuring to me in that moment.

 

Effie jumped up and clapped her hands together. “But first, you get to meet your new roommate!” she enthused. “She was in the backyard last time I saw her...” Effie motioned for me to wait as she rushed towards the back door. Just before she opened it, she paused and looked back at me. “Your roommate is, um...” she tapped her finger thoughtfully against her lips. Finally she shook her head and shrugged. “I’m sure you’ll get along just fine.”

 

Effie opened the back door and peered out, looking back and forth. “She was just here,” I heard her mutter to herself as she walked outside, the door slamming behind her. “Johanna!” she yelled. I couldn’t hear the muffled response she received. “Just come inside, Primrose is waiting,” she called impatiently.

 

A few minutes later, Effie was standing in front of me accompanied by a lean, intimidating young woman with short, spiky brown hair. Where Effie looked like she probably spent three hours on her hair alone, this girl looked like she might’ve just rolled out of bed. I can’t imagine it took her more than five minutes to throw on the jeans, boots, and tight red tank-top she was wearing. She turned to Effie abruptly. “This is her?”

 

“Yes!” Effie exclaimed in a clipped tone. “But let me formally introduce you.” At that, the girl rolled her eyes but remained silent and let Effie continue. “Primrose, this is your new roommate, Johanna Mason. Johanna, this is Primrose Everdeen.”

 

Awkwardly, I started to stand. My first instinct was to give her a hug, but honestly, I was a little scared to touch her. Should I shake her hand? In the end, I didn’t need to worry about it, because Johanna shook her head, motioning to me to stay seated, and dragged another chair next to mine.

 

“You guys can just call me Prim,” I said a bit nervously, looking between the two of them.

 

“Sorry we had to meet like this, Prim,” Johanna told me. When she spoke, her voice was softer and gentler than I imagined it would be. I thought I saw a glimpse of her chin quivering, but she turned away from me before I could be certain.

 

The three of us sat silently for a few moments before Effie hesitantly started speaking again. “Johanna hasn’t been here long herself. Just a couple of weeks. She - ”

 

At that, Johanna’s head snapped forward and she glared fiercely at Effie, effectively silencing her. Effie looked away and sighed in frustration. I couldn’t control the worried and confused look that passed over my face as I witnessed their bickering, and that seemed to make Effie even more distressed.  “We’re supposed to make Primrose feel _welcome_ ,” she said to Johanna. “You’re just upsetting her.”

 

“Right, Effie, _I’m_ upsetting her,” Johanna retorted. “It has absolutely nothing to do with how she ended up here in the first place - ”

 

“We’re not supposed to talk about that, Johanna! She will discuss it when she’s ready,” Effie hissed, looking at me out of the corner of her eye.

 

I just sat there stunned, not quite sure how to react to the scene playing out in front of me. But maybe that was a good thing. Since Effie first dragged me into the house, I’d hardly had a second to reflect on what had happened to me. Or think about everything - _everyone_ \- that I’d left behind.

 

But at the realization that I _hadn’t_ thought about what had happened - the fact that I was dead at 14 years old, no going back - a switch flipped inside me. Suddenly I couldn’t think about anything else _but_ the things I’d lost. How I’d never have my favorite ice cream again. How I’d never get married. How I wouldn’t be going to high school that fall with my friends. I’d never even see my friends again. Or my mom. _Or Katniss_.

 

And I just completely lost it. My head dropped into my hands as I rocked back and forth in my chair, unable to control the embarrassing wracking sobs that were pouring out of me. Johanna and Effie must’ve stopped fighting with each other at some point, because the next thing I knew, Johanna was kneeling in front of me, holding my hands tightly in both of hers.

 

Effie crouched at the side of my chair, laying her hand on my shoulder and saying, “Shh, Primrose, it’s alright...it’s alright.”

 

“No, it’s not,” Johanna snapped. “She’s just lost everything. Nothing can make that ‘alright’,” she added, her voice breaking.

 

Johanna pulled me to her in a protective embrace, and I sobbed into her chest. I mourned for my old life, and for the life I’d never get to live. I didn’t think about accepting what had happened, or of letting go of what I’d lost. I let myself feel every emotion that surged through me; I held nothing back. I wept until there was nothing left inside me at all.

__________

 

This place isn’t so bad, actually. And it’s very thoughtful of...well, whoever makes the decisions around here, to assign an escort to all of us new arrivals. There was a lot to adjust to - basically, I was living in an entirely new world - so it helped to have someone around to explain everything.

 

The little rowhouse that Effie brought me to after I arrived is where Johanna and I stayed while Effie helped us get settled into our new lives as dead people. It sounds weird to say that, but I can’t think of any other way to describe it. I had to learn to live here after I died. The rules are different from Earth - here, I can have anything I want by just thinking about it. I don’t need to worry about things like eating, or sleeping, or even breathing, although I can certainly do all those things if I want.

 

This may sound like fun, but it’s actually a more difficult adjustment than you’d think.

 

I’m not exactly sure how much time we’ve spent learning and getting our bearings. Time is pretty meaningless here anyway. But Effie has told us that the rowhouse was always meant to be just a temporary lodging for us; once Johanna and I felt comfortable, we were free to go live wherever we wanted. Still, I had some trouble understanding that in the beginning.

 

“It’s simple, Primrose,” Effie explained. “Everyone has their own heaven. You can decide what it is, where it is, and who lives there.”

 

I furrowed my brow in confusion. “What does that mean, exactly? Like, I can walk down the street and find another house for me to live in? Why wouldn’t I just stay here?”

 

“This neighborhood is just for the new arrivals, dear,” Effie said patronizingly.

 

“But then where does everyone else live?” Johanna asked. I felt a little better knowing that I wasn’t the only one who didn’t get it.

 

“Anywhere they want,” Effie answered, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. And maybe it was, to her. I didn’t know how long she’d been here, but she seemed well-acclimated.

 

“Well, how do we know where we’re _allowed_ to live?” I still didn’t have a clue what she was trying to tell us.

 

“You’re _allowed_ to live wherever you want,” she replied, with just a hint of exasperation in her voice.

 

Johanna and I looked at each other, silently communicating our mutual frustration. Effie sighed loudly and rested her chin thoughtfully on her hand. Finally she stood and motioned for us to follow her. We walked out of the rowhouse and to the empty street outside. “Tell me someplace you want to go,” she said.

 

“What do you mean?” Johanna asked, narrowing her eyes and folding her arms over her chest.

 

“We’re going on a day trip. We’ll come home later tonight. Just tell me somewhere you want to go.”

 

I giggled nervously but decided to play along. “Well,” I started, biting my lip, “I’ve never been to the beach…”

 

“Perfect!” Effie exclaimed. “Follow me.”

 

And thus began our day of hopping from place to place to place, each of us requesting in turn to visit sights we’d never seen before. We started at the beach, then moved to the mountains, and before long we were asking to see crazy and exotic locales that I’m sure I would never have visited even if I’d lived a hundred years: the Great Wall of China, the Pyramids, the North Pole, Easter Island, and on and on.

 

Now, keep in mind, we weren’t actually visiting these places - we hadn’t returned to Earth. But Effie was trying to show us that we could conjure any of these places if we wanted to - we weren’t bound by the same rules we were used to.

 

“And you girls can live in _any_ of these places if you want,” she explained. “It’s completely your choice.”

 

I looked down at my feet, lost in thought. Visiting these places was nice, but I couldn’t imagine myself ever living there. None of them felt like they could be home. “Um...could we go somewhere else?” I asked shyly.

 

“Of course,” Effie answered quickly. “Where?”

 

When I was younger - well, for my entire life, really - my family never had much money. Dad’s job at the mine and Mom’s job at the drug store just gave us enough money to get by, with not much left over for luxuries. We never went on any vacations; we didn’t even have enough money to drive into Pittsburgh to go to the zoo or a baseball game. Dad was pretty creative about entertaining his two young kids, though, and there was one place he used to take us when we absolutely, positively had to get out of the house. And I wanted one more chance to see that place; almost all of my favorite memories of him and Katniss happened there. “The meadow,” I told her.

 

“A meadow?” Effie repeated. “You mean, like, a grassy field with flowers and trees? Okay, I guess we can - ”

 

“No,” I interrupted. “ _My_ meadow. The one I used to go to...back home.”

 

I’m not sure if anyone else knew about this meadow, and even if they did, it probably didn’t seem particularly remarkable to them. I have to admit, it was pretty much like Effie described it: grass, flowers, trees. It was in the woods not far from our house on Seam Street. Close enough that Dad used to take us there all the time when the weather was nice. We had picnics there almost every weekend in summer, and Dad used to teach us the names of the plants that grew in the area...I even remember him showing Katniss how to use his bow and arrow.

 

By the time I died, though, it didn’t exist anymore. Most of the woods had been cut down, and the meadow was destroyed along with it. Katniss and I never really talked about it, so I won’t ever really know how she felt about the loss of the woods and meadow. But as for me...if it really was possible for us to recreate places from Earth here, there was nowhere else I’d rather return to.

 

Effie turned to me with a thoughtful look. “Primrose, I can’t take you somewhere I don’t know. You’ll have to do it.”

 

“But I - ”

 

Johanna turned to me and pointed towards another thick grove of trees. “Come on, it’s probably right over there,” she said, dragging me in that direction.

 

I grabbed onto her arm. “What do I have to do?” I asked.

 

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “But Effie made it look easy, so just...think about the meadow or something. Make it appear. How hard can it be?”

 

I held onto Johanna for dear life as she led me to the trees, with Effie following closely behind us. I closed my eyes, desperately trying to recall every detail. Maybe if I saw everything in my head, that’d make it appear for me? I didn’t know. Our trip with Effie that afternoon was great for showing us the possibilities, but not the mechanics, of creating a new place to live.

 

I was so nervous that I didn’t even realize that we’d stopped walking until Johanna shook my arm. “Prim! Is this it?”

 

My eyes flew open, and...there it was. My meadow. I don’t know what I did to make it appear, but it was just as I remembered it. Every last detail. The flat little patch of dirt under the tree where Dad used to spread a blanket before we ate. The uneven ground where I always fell down when I was running. The spot where we usually found a few morels growing every spring. “It is,” I said disbelievingly.

 

“Oh, thank goodness,” Effie groaned, leaning gingerly on a tree (but only after inspecting it to make sure it wasn’t _too_ dirty). “Girls, I think you understand what I’ve been trying to tell you. You can live _anywhere_ you want. It’s all up to you.”

 

“Um...can we, like, live with other people, or do we have to live by ourselves?” Johanna asked quietly, staring off at the woods in the distance.

 

“Either,” Effie answered promptly. “You can be as solitary or as social as you like.” She moved away from the tree and began walking slowly across the meadow, back the way we came. “I’m going to leave you two alone to decide what you want to do. Come back home when you’ve made your decision!” she called over her shoulder as she disappeared into the trees.

 

I barely even noticed her go. I’d already started wandering off in the opposite direction, staring wide-eyed at everything around me, unable to believe that this was all real.

 

Well, as real as anything here is.

 

“So, what are you gonna do?” Johanna asked suddenly, breaking me out of my reverie.

 

“About what?”

 

“Where to live, obviously,” she prodded, crouching down to run her hands through the thick grass at her feet.

 

I sat down on the ground, my body remembering this place so vividly from the hours I spent here during my childhood. It was the closest feeling I’d had to home since I’d been here. “I think I want to stay here,” I answered quietly.

 

I leaned my head back and closed my eyes, feeling the sun beat down on my face. Without looking at her, I asked Johanna, “What about you?”

 

She didn’t answer, but I could hear her pacing back and forth not far from where I sat. I opened my eyes and stared at her curiously. She was kicking the dirt at her feet with a conflicted look on her face. Her mouth opened and closed several times, but she didn’t say anything at first.

 

Finally she turned to me. “You remind me of my little sisters,” she said, offering no further explanation.

 

I’m not sure what this had to do with the question I just asked. “Oh, um...were they close to my age?” I asked.

 

She ignored my question again. “I used to take care of them when their dad - ” she cut herself off abruptly with a shake of her head, an angry look crossing her face. She turned back to me and changed the subject. “It’s why I asked Effie to pair me with you when we found out you were, um...going to be joining us,” she explained.

 

“You did?” This was the first I’d heard of any of this. I knew Johanna arrived before me, but I thought that Effie had been assigned to us randomly. I thought it was just lucky on my part that Johanna reminded me so much of Katniss. She was much more outspoken and vocal than Katniss ever was - my sister tended to have few words for most people outside of our family and a few close friends - but in many other ways, they were so similar. In Johanna, I saw Katniss’s protective nature, her loyalty, her caring, even her sarcastic sense of humor.

 

I felt so sad for Johanna’s sisters, that they’d lost that. Just like I’d lost Katniss.

 

It hit me all of a sudden that having Johanna around had made my time here so far much easier than it might have been. The loss of my sister still stung, but the pain wasn’t quite as deep as it had been.

 

Impulsively, I turned to her. “We could both stay here,” I offered. “I mean, I understand if you don’t want to, but there’s plenty of space, and we could keep each other company, and maybe it could even be _fun_ ,” I rambled.

 

I glanced at Johanna, and I swore just for a moment that I saw a tiny smile and a look of relief cross her face. But it was hard to tell, and it was gone before I could be certain. She dropped her head back and stared up at the sky. “I guess I could if you want,” she shrugged.

 

“I do,” I nodded resolutely.

 

Later that afternoon, we returned to the rowhouse and told Effie what we’d decided. She was thrilled to hear that we’d figured out where we were going to live. But honestly, I think a big part of that had to do with finally getting Johanna out of the house. Those two had just about reached their limit of spending time together. That’s fine though, because the tension between them made me really nervous - I’ve always preferred peaceful coexistence to conflict.

 

We left the rowhouse for good not long after our day with Effie, and we’ve been together, here in the meadow, ever since. We’re not stuck here or anything - as Effie showed us, we’re free to go wherever we want - but this is kind of our “home base.”

 

My meadow - I guess it’s _our_ meadow now, though - has only changed slightly from my memories of it. We needed an actual place to live, since neither of us was interested in spending the rest of eternity camping on the ground, so we built two tiny, identical cabins. One for each of us.

 

It’s funny, though. Even though she has her own place to live, Johanna still stays with me most nights, just like when we first arrived here. I feel like she’s trying to protect me - almost like it’s a habit left over from her time on Earth - even though there’s nothing here that can hurt either of us. I don’t mind though; without Katniss to watch over me anymore, I find Johanna’s presence here reassuring. And I’m glad I don’t have to be alone.

__________

 

Despite what Effie told me when I arrived here, Johanna and I are pretty sure that this isn’t heaven. It _can’t_ be. If it really was, why would I spend so much of my time preoccupied with what’s going on back on Earth? Wouldn’t I be at peace by now? At the very least, wouldn’t I be happier than I am?

 

Johanna thinks that we’re stuck, somewhere in between heaven and Earth. I’m inclined to agree with her.

 

I spend a lot of my time watching what happens back there. I’ve done that pretty much ever since I got here, once I realized how easy it was. All I have to do is walk a few minutes away from the meadow, to the lake where Dad taught Katniss and me to swim when we were little girls. In the calm, reflective surface of the water, I can see everything.

 

Johanna, I assume, spends a good amount of time watching as well. She was the one who showed me how to do it, after all. And I don’t know what else she’d be doing during the hours that she disappears every day. But even after all this time, I don’t know who she watches or where she goes to do it. I assume she looks after the younger sisters she told me about, but I don’t really know. Although we’ve selectively shared information about our backgrounds, we honestly haven’t talked about how we ended up here. I know she knows about my murder because she arrived here before me, but I haven’t been able to figure out any sensitive way to ask her how she died. But she got here when she was just twenty years old; whatever happened to her must have been tragic.

 

As for me, I spend most of my time watching Katniss and my mom. It’s hurt me so much to see how devastated they were after I died, and how their lives have fallen apart since then. In a perverse way, I feel responsible for it all. I know that Katniss would be angry if she knew that I harbored this kind of guilt, but I can’t help it; I do. If I hadn’t died, their lives would be so different. Maybe they’d even be happy. Maybe we’d be like a normal family.

 

I wish Katniss knew I was watching her. I wish she knew that I was okay. Yes, I’m dead, but...I’m okay. More than anything else, I wish there was something I could do to help my sister start living her own life again.

 

But Katniss doesn’t seem like she’s going to change anytime soon. I mean, six years after I died and she still calls the police station every week? That’s true dedication. And I’m not at all surprised by it. So I’ve come to the conclusion that the only thing I could possibly do to help her move on from my disappearance is to help her solve it. Which is really, _really_ hard for me to do from here.

 

There is one thing, though. One possibility. I realized not long after I died - purely by accident, really - that I have some limited ability to contact people back on Earth. I can’t exactly control it though; sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t. And I don’t think I’ll ever forget the first time it happened, when I accidentally showed myself to Annie Cresta.

 

She’s never forgotten about it, either.

 

At the time of my death, Annie - I guess I should call her Ms. Cresta, but I never could get used to that - was an English teacher at the local middle school. She’d been my teacher during the school year just before I died. Annie had grown up alongside Katniss and me on Seam Street. Her family lived just a few houses down, and she used to babysit for us when we were younger. It was a little strange having her as my teacher in school, because we were close and I thought of her as my friend, but it was also really cool to have a teacher I knew so well.

 

Annie was very troubled by my disappearance. I guess I never realized it about her before, but she was...sensitive, I think is the best word for it. She was shaken up by what happened, although she tried desperately to convince herself that her feelings weren’t as intense as they seemed. But it bothered her quite a bit to see people going about their lives normally after my disappearance, when she felt like she’d never be the same person again.

 

And just to make myself absolutely clear, I don’t have the ability to read minds. The reason I know all this about Annie is because after I died, she used to talk to me all the time when she was alone. I don’t _think_ she knew I was listening...

 

One day, I was watching Annie clean up her classroom at the end of a long day of summer school. Just like most days, I found her absently talking to me as she put away her books and gathered the papers she was taking home to grade that evening. This time, she was rambling almost incoherently about how she’d been questioned by the police - not because she was a suspect, but simply because they were speaking to many people who knew me -  and she happened to mention that Rory Hawthorne was being considered a suspect.

 

“That boy is harmless, Prim,” she said angrily, “I know he’d never hurt you. I just can’t believe it.”

 

What she said didn’t shock me. Of course, I already knew it. But she seemed so worked up just thinking about it; as she stormed around her classroom getting ready to leave, tears started streaming down her face. She continued ranting and soon, without thinking, I found myself trying to comfort her.

 

“It’s okay, Annie. He didn’t do it, they’re not going to hurt him,” I called to her. I thought I was so far away when I said that.

 

But then Annie turned around. The color drained from her face.

 

She looked _right at me_...and screamed.

 

The sudden noise startled me and I jumped, stumbling backwards over a desk. I looked around in confusion. I wasn’t at the lake anymore. I was in the classroom with Annie.

 

_How did I get here?_

 

That thought left my head as quickly as it came, though. The only thing that mattered was that I was here. On Earth.

 

And a part of me didn’t want to be here. That part of me was panicking, remembering what happened last time I was here, that this place wasn’t safe.

 

But Annie was right in front of me, sobbing and frightened. And I did that to her. So another, stronger part of me tried to push aside my fears so that I could approach her. I didn’t know what I should do, what could help her...but I had to do something.

 

I took a few hesitant steps forward, almost worried that the room was going to disappear if I moved too quickly. “Annie,” I said, my voice coming out strangled and weak.

 

She retreated from me quickly, shaking her head vigorously. “Prim,” she whispered in disbelief. But she came to her sense a moment later, slowly stopping her movements and peering at me anxiously. “You’re here. Are you...alright?”

 

She must’ve known or seen that there was something not quite right about me. Her reaction puzzled me a bit. She didn’t rush forward to touch me or comfort me; she just remained frozen in place, staring.

 

I opened my mouth to respond, but it hit me that I had no idea how to answer her. I don’t think either one of us really knew what she was asking. “I...” I trailed off, swallowing roughly. There were a thousand things I could say to her in this moment, given the opportunity. But what should I choose?

 

“Um. Can you see me?” I asked, bewildered but hopeful.

 

“Yes,” she answered immediately, still not moving. I could see her fists clenching and unclenching as she held them at her sides.

 

Hearing that confirmation from her sent me over the edge. Tears started streaming down my face. I sank shakily to my knees, unable to breathe or think. I put my face in my hands and tried to figure out what to do next.

 

I’m not really sure how long I sat there like that, but soon I felt Annie next to me. She hesitantly wrapped her arms around me and rested her head on mine. She was crying too, but at the same time whispering that everything was going to be okay.

 

I still don’t know if she was trying to convince me or herself with her words that day.

 

I returned her embrace, holding her as tightly as I could, hoping I could make this moment last longer.

 

I knew it would have to end sometime.

 

I can’t pinpoint when or how the moment ended. Something dissolved, Annie’s embrace and warmth were gone, and when I opened my eyes I was kneeling in the grass next to the lake.

 

I’ve never figured out how we gained and lost that brief connection. And poor Annie had no idea what had happened. Finding me there and then having me disappear so unexpectedly, right out of her arms, sent her into a panic. She spent the next hour searching her classroom and the school itself, insisting that she’d _just seen me_. The principal found her and took her home, trying unsuccessfully to calm her, reassuring her that I wasn’t anywhere in or near the school. I remember wishing so badly that I could help her when I saw her put her hands over her ears, shaking her head and shutting her eyes tight, trying to block out what she was hearing.

 

She didn’t come back to school the next day. And she moved away from Panem soon after that. It’s taken her years, in fact, to recover from what happened...and she’ll never really be the same Annie that she was before my death.

 

As unsettling as that experience was, I saw it as my only possibility for helping Katniss. If I could tell her something - give her a message about my death, what happened, who did it, _anything_ \- maybe she could finally start to move on with her own life. So I have to do whatever I can to help her.

 

And if I could talk to Annie, surely I could find a way to talk to my own sister, right?

 

But apparently it’s not that easy. I’ve tried over and over again to get a message to Katniss, but nothing’s ever worked. I’m really hampered by the fact that I don’t know what I did to reach Annie in the first place. I’ve spent a lot of time picturing what happened on the day I died and trying to somehow “send” the images to Katniss, but she seems completely unreceptive. And I’ve just about run out of new things to try.

__________

 

There are people back on Earth, of course, who could help Katniss as well, if they were able to solve my disappearance. So she’s not the only person I’ve tried to contact. I’ve also tried to reach just about every police detective who’s worked on my case over the years. Problem is, I haven’t had any more luck with them than I’ve had with Katniss.

 

I make it a point to try to talk to every single detective who looks at my file, just in case. You never know when something might happen, right?

 

Today I’m sitting cross-legged on the shore of the lake, peering at the newest person to come through the Panem County Police and be given the unlucky task of trying to make some progress on my case. Almost no one - not even Finnick and Haymitch - thinks my case should really be open anymore, and they’d give just about anything to be able to close it. If for no other reason than to get my sister to finally leave them alone.

 

The new guy is named Peeta Mellark. I’ve been watching him for weeks now, ever since I heard Finnick mention his name to Haymitch. I visited him on his old beat in inner-city Pittsburgh, listened in on his job interviews at Panem County, watched him eagerly pack up his life to come to our small town. Poor guy has just started looking over my pathetically small file. No evidence and no suspects for the past six years means very little substance to review.

 

I think I like Peeta. But to be completely honest, I’ve liked most of the people who’ve worked on my case over the years, even if they weren’t able to really help me. Still, there’s something about Detective Mellark that seems very promising; I’m not sure how he’s managed it after eight years as a cop, but he’s less cynical and less jaded than most of the people who’ve come before him. 

 

He’s just pulled out the picture that’s attached to my file, my eighth grade school photo. I’ve always been embarrassed about the picture, actually - my hair was just not cooperating with me that day, and Katniss thought I’d put on too much makeup that morning and made me take it off at the last second before I had to rush to catch the bus - and even though I know exactly how silly this is, the embarrassment comes flooding back to me now because a _cute boy_ is staring at the picture. I can feel my cheeks flaming red.

 

But my discomfort fades as I see how he looks at it. It’s hard to explain exactly, except to compare it to what I’ve seen other detectives do before him. Most of them stared at it for a few seconds, no shorter or longer than they did any other piece of information in the file, before setting it aside and continuing to read. It was just another detail in a crime they want to solve. The picture doesn’t represent Primrose the person; it’s just Primrose the victim to them. The face they see in that picture is only useful to them if it can help them investigate the crime.

 

I don’t get that sense from Peeta, though. He’s looking at my picture like he actually sees, and maybe even cares about, the person in it. I wonder what he sees to make him look at my picture like that?

 

I lean forward to get a better look, but I’m forced to close my eyes briefly when an unexpected wave of vertigo washes over me. When I open my eyes again, I jump and let out an involuntary gasp. I’m not sitting by the lake anymore.

 

I’m in the room with Peeta.

 

My hands fly over my mouth and my breathing becomes shallow. I haven’t been back here since I talked to Annie, and...something about this feels all wrong. Once again, I have no idea how this happened. And every fiber of my being is screaming at me to run, _now_ , back to the meadow. To where I know I’m safe.

 

But I’m standing very close to Peeta, closer than I’d realized, and as I turn to leave, my hand accidentally makes contact with his back. I feel him stiffen at my touch.

 

Does he know I’m here?

 

Instead of running, I freeze. As much as I desperately want to get back to the safety of my home, I feel compelled to do something. Peeta hasn’t turned around, so I have my doubts as to whether he really even knows I’m here, but...I have to try.

 

“Can you hear me?” I ask hesitantly.

 

No response.

 

I speak up louder: “I’m right behind you.” 

 

Still nothing.

 

Tears start to well up in my eyes. The first time I’ve come close to contacting anyone since Annie, six years ago, and I still failed. I can’t remember ever feeling this disappointed. I rub my palms over my eyes to wipe away the unshed tears.

 

And when my hands drop back to my sides, I’m back at the lake. I can still see Peeta, but I’m definitely not in the room with him anymore. I don’t even know if what just happened was real.

 

But I hope it is. And I’m going to cling to this hope as fiercely as I can, even though I’m pretty sure Peeta will end up leaving just like everyone else. Maybe our brief contact - assuming it was even real - means this new detective will be able to help me.

 

I worry, though, because everything from Earth that I’ve touched since my death has ended up getting badly hurt. And I pray that I haven’t already hurt him, too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading, reviewing, and following our story. We’re so thrilled by the response it’s gotten so far. We hope you keep reading and letting us know what you think!
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> We also want to thank our beta sunfishdunes, as well as our pre-readers desertginger and jennagill, for all their help on this chapter.
> 
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> Stay tuned for Chapter 5 (Peeta) coming soon!


	5. Peeta

[](http://s1351.photobucket.com/user/madefrommemories/media/TEIB-bannercopy_zpsd414a2a8.jpg.html)

Chapter 5: Peeta

It’s been about two weeks since I started at the station. My life has fallen into a comfortable routine, which is how I was getting by in Pittsburgh. I was just going through the motions and focusing on my career.

Needless to say, in my downtime, I’ve been bored out of my mind.

Since I’ve been here, my life has been a steady rotation of going to work, making dinner for myself, re-watching  _Dexter_  on Netflix, and falling asleep by ten o’clock. I did go a little crazy last week and buy a couple of suits for myself. Also, I did actually make it through an entire dinner at the Odair house and even had a few drinks at The Hob. But really, who am I kidding? I’m boring and tonight I’m doing something about it.

I don't want to go too crazy, though, so I just decide to go to The Hob again. The few times I’ve been back here, the waitress I saw the first night hasn’t been working, or I just haven't seen her. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about her pretty much every day since. It’s really bugging me how familiar she seemed to me, but I have no idea who she reminds me of. I know I’ve never met her before, so I’ve ruled that out. Honestly, it’s getting embarrassing. I’m a detective and I can’t figure out this one small detail. Maybe I’m in the wrong profession. Regardless, I’m going out tonight and I hope she’s there.

I thought I had forgotten what it was actually like being interested in someone. My brothers were convinced I took a vow of celibacy, and my parents kept worrying I was gay.  _Not that there’s anything wrong with that_ , my father assured me while my mother cringed at the idea of another man around the house.

I reassured them all that I did, in fact, like women and that I was not celibate - all over Thanksgiving dinner last year.

I can almost understand their concern. Technically, I haven’t had a girlfriend since high school, and in the past nine years, I could probably count on both hands how many dates I’ve been on. If we’re really being picky, I could narrow that pathetic number down to three, which is how many women I’ve actually been with.. Yes, I’m lonely, but I’ve had other things to focus on versus just getting laid.

I made detective within the seven and a half years I’ve been on the force, which is practically unheard of. There are men and women who work for over 20 years and can never make the progression. I took online classes and put time in on patrol, which meant that I really didn’t have time for dating and social activities, outside of family functions.

For awhile I considered focusing my career on being a sketch artist, but apparently I took too many artistic liberties and got in trouble when I made everyone “too pretty.” So sue me, I’m an optimist, even in a career that can make people extremely jaded. I’d like to retain a little bit of the beauty left in this world, and keep a little piece of myself in the process.

My drawing has proven to be at least a somewhat helpful skill while out on the streets. But being able to make quick sketches of suspects or places really didn’t get me any awards or recognition. Making a few good calls on drug busts and gang murders are what set me apart from some of the other officers I worked with. Well, that and the fact that Finnick had an opening at his station. Either way, this is where I am and I am going to make the most of it.

I’ve been so deep in thought I didn’t even turn on the radio on my way to the bar. The crunch of gravel under the car is the only sound keeping me company right now. It’s pretty early on a Wednesday night, but the place has a decent crowd. It looks like regulars to me. I think I even recognize a couple of the patrons from when I was here before. Not that I really know anyone yet.

Speaking of familiar faces, the waiter from the first time I was here is walking over to me; only this time he’s wearing a plain white button up shirt, black pants, and about twelve colorful scarves wrapped around his waist and head. “Hey, sugar, I didn’t think I’d see you back here again so soon.”

I smile politely and take a seat at the bar. “Yeah, I’ve just been keeping myself busy.” I lie. “Thought I’d get out of the house tonight.”

He smiles broadly and tilts his head. I watch his eyes scan me up and down. “What are you drinking tonight?”

I place my debit card on the bar and slide it over to him. “I’ll just have a Yuengling, again.” I nod to him when he asks if I’d like to start a tab and I look around the bar. I could just say I was casually taking in my surroundings, but really, I was looking for her. The waitress with olive skin and a long, dark braid.

I’m surprised when I feel someone brush up against my arm and I suddenly see a bowl of pretzels in front of me. When I turn to see who it was, I’m greeted with a pair of startled bright grey eyes. I surprise myself when I am able to speak and plaster on the biggest, brightest smile I can muster, “Oh, hey. I was wondering if you were working tonight.”

Her expression changes from startled to confused. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

I clear my throat, “Uh, no, I guess not. I’m...” Before I can even get out my name, she spins around and starts to walk away. I’m stunned into silence and look back to the bar when I see the bartender set down my beer. I swing around on my stool to face him. “What was that about? Why did she walk away?”

The bartender laughs and speaks to me in his smooth voice, “That’s how she always acts. Don’t worry, you’re not special. She’s rude to everyone.”

“Who is she?”

He chuckles to himself. “She is...not sociable.”

“And why is that?” I ask before taking a long sip of my beer. The cool liquid slides down my throat and I instantly feel myself gain more courage.

“Look, sweetie, you are a very handsome young man, and I’m sure that you can have your pick of the ladies. But you’re barking up the wrong tree with that one. She hardly even talks to me, and I’m her friend.”

I grunt in disapproval before taking another swig of beer. “Yeah, well, I don’t give up so easily. I’m a nice guy, people like me. I bet I can get her to crack.”

“Baby, I’m sure people do like you. But that woman over there does not take kindly to new people, especially men.” His deep brown eyes stare me down while he thinks over what he’s about to say next. “Look, I want to see my girl get laid, and lord knows she needs it. What can I do to help?”

“I’m not just interested in getting her in bed. I’d like to actually get to know her.” I think before continuing, “Would you mind at least telling me her name?”

He shakes his head. “No, that you need to get from her. What else do you want to know?”

As the night progresses, he and I talk for a couple more hours while he serves other customers and I nurse three more beers. I do at least learn that his name is Cinna. I also learn that my mystery girl likes the outdoors, has a dog, and is fiercely loyal to her family and friends, once she lets them in. He wouldn’t tell me much about her family, but that sort of thing is personal so I can understand that. What I did get out of him isn’t much, but it’s a start, and it just makes me hungry for more.

As I leave the bar that evening without even succeeding in talking to the waitress, my new-found confidence quickly wanes. What the hell am I doing? I haven’t dated anyone, or even been interested in anyone, in years. What makes me think I can do this? I can almost feel myself start to hyperventilate and can’t wait to get out of here. Going out tonight was a bad idea.

\----------

On the drive home, my phone buzzes from the seat next to me. I must have left it in the car while I was inside. I look down at the screen and see I have three missed calls from my brother, Rye.

I roll my eyes. He always has to try and call me multiple times, like I never return his calls.

I unlock the screen and just when I’m about to call him back, the phone buzzes again and I see his name pop up for an incoming call.

“Eager much?” I answer.

“Hey, little brother. Are you ignoring me, because I know your ass wasn’t busy. Well, unless you call crying while jerking off in the shower and listening to Coldplay, busy.”

I roll my eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. My brother has always been a charmer. “Have you been calling for a reason or did you just feel like you haven’t busted my balls enough lately?”

“What? Can’t a guy just check in on his younger brother every once in a while?”

“Not when that guy is you,” I reply curtly.

He laughs, “Touché. I was just talking to Finnick earlier. He said that they have you doing the grunt work right now. How’s that working out for you, Mr. Hotshot Detective?”

“Hey, what I’m doing is important.”

“Uh-huh.”

Fuck it. He’s right, it’s shitty. “Okay, so it’s not exactly what I thought I would be doing when I got here, but I have to start somewhere. I just wish they’d at least let me ride with them on an active case.”

Rye’s speaks to me in a patronizing tone. “Aw, Peeta still just wants to play with the big boys.”

“Shut up, Rye.” He has always known just how to push my buttons.

He laughs again, “Do you remember that time you just had to go with Finnick and me while we drove around the neighborhood busting the neighbors’ mailboxes, and you pissed your pants because you were so scared of getting caught?”

“I didn’t piss my pants.”

“Oh sorry. You cried like a little girl, same thing.”

“It’s not the same thing, and what is your point?”

“My point is, you always do this. You want to grow up too fast or put the cart before the horse. You were too young to go out with us but you insisted.” I hear him snort on the other end of the phone. “Or some shit like that. Look, all I’m saying is enjoy the fact that you made it this far. Don’t get all pissy because you don’t get to do everything all at once.”

I hate when he is right. “Whatever. I’m just tired of being treated like I can’t do something, when I know I can. It’s just frustrating.”

“No one said you couldn’t do it,” he sighs. “Look, maybe it isn’t my place, but I talked to Finnick about it, and he put you on these cases for a reason. He really thinks you can help. I know he really wants to get those things closed. He trusts you with it. I’m the one that called it grunt work; he knows it’s important. He wouldn’t have asked you to come work them if he didn’t think you could do it. It’s his career he has to worry about, too, and no offense, Annie and Patrick are more important than you.”

I pull up to my house and sit in silence while I take in everything my brother just said. It always surprises me when he can actually have these moments of sincerity and brotherly concern.

And then he brings me back to reality when he feels the conversation has gotten too heavy.

“So, you fuck anyone yet? Guy or girl, I’m not judging.”

“Dammit, Rye. I’ve only been here for two weeks.”

“So?”

“So, I’m not like you. I don’t fuck just anything with tits.”

He gets surprisingly defensive. “Hey, I have standards.”

This time, I get to laugh. “Rye, I have seen some of the, and I use the term loosely, ‘women’ you’ve brought home before. You might want to rethink those standards.”

He scoffs, “I’m wounded.”

“I highly doubt that.” I clench my jaw, ready for a subject change. “Can we just not talk about my love life, or lack thereof, for a few minutes? I was actually going to call you tonight anyway. I need to ask you something serious.”

I can hear the hesitation in his voice, “Okay...”

“Is there anything going on with Annie? She’s been acting really strange around me lately. Do you know if I did anything to her?”

“Not that I know of. Maybe she wants your dick.”

“Ha, ha.” I scrub my hand over my face. I should have know better than to think I could get two serious topics out of him in one phone conversation. “No, seriously. Ever since I’ve gotten here she’s just acted different. Like she doesn’t know how to talk to me or something.”

“I don’t know. It’s probably that kid. He’s a little shit.”

“He’s your godson.”

“That doesn’t make him any less of a shit.”

I silently nod in agreement. “No, I don’t think that’s it. It started when I had dinner with them a couple of weeks ago. Finnick mentioned one of the cases I’m working on and she kind of froze up on everyone. I didn’t think much of it at the time because right afterwards Patrick started going apeshit. But then something else weird happened: I went back over there again last weekend and Finnick pulled me aside and asked me not to talk about the case in front of Annie. I wonder if she’s involved somehow?”

Rye is quiet on the other end. I get out of my car, walk into my house, and set my keys on the counter before speaking again. “Rye, you there?”

He clears his throat. “Yeah, sorry. What case were you working on?”

“It’s a missing child case from a couple years ago. Her name is Primrose Everdeen. Does that sound familiar?”

His tone changes and he sounds concerned. “Okay, look, I’m going to tell you something, but you have to promise not to say anything to Finnick about it, or else he’ll kill me.”

I grab a glass of water and sit at the kitchen table while he starts to tell me about Annie. “So, you know how she used to be a teacher, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, that Everdeen kid is why she quit. She was her teacher when she went missing.”

“Oh... But that doesn’t explain why she quit.”

“I’m getting to that. You know how Annie is into all that New Age bullshit?”

I hum in agreement.

“Well, she thinks she saw that girl after she disappeared. Annie said the kid’s ghost came to her while she was alone in her classroom. It fucked her up and she was never the same after that. She’s been to a shit-ton of psychiatrists and doctors. She’s had brain scans done to make sure there isn’t something abnormal going on in her head. She’s even gone to psychics. Trust me, Finnick lost his shit over that. She’s calmed down with it since she’s had Patrick, I think it keeps her mind off of it.”

“I wonder why none of this was in the case file.”

“If you knew everyone in the station, would you want it on record that your wife is nuts? Plus, she doesn’t really have anything to do with the case itself; so worry her with it? Anyway, I have to go. I have someone coming over. At least one of us is getting laid tonight. Sorry it’s not you, little brother.”

\----------

The next morning at work, I’m surprised to see Finnick already in the office and sitting on my desk. He sees me walk up to my chair and hands me a cup of coffee. “Mornin’ Sunshine.”

I wrinkle my brow and take a sip of my coffee. “Good morning. What’s gotten into you?”

He flashes his thousand watt smile at me. “What has gotten into me is the call you made on this ‘Glimmer’ case.” He slaps the case file on my desk. “Officer Chaff made an arrest last night and he’s bringing in two suspects this morning for questioning.”

He folds his arms over his chest and looks at me like a proud father. "We've suspected these guys of making and selling meth for a while, but because of you finding those receipts for pseudoephedrine in her personal belongings, we finally have enough to bring them in for questioning. After you pointed it out last week, I went around their neighborhood and asked if anyone knew Glimmer. The neighbors said they had seen her with one of the suspects and they had known the two of them to date in the past. Everyone there called him by his street name, 'Cato.' Chaff picked him up last night with his friend and suspected business partner, 'Marvel.'"

“They were both in possession of paraphernalia and enough meth to get them with intention to sell.” He’s practically beaming at me now. “Even if this tip doesn’t lead to anything with the murder case, we still were able to get enough on these two to put them away for a long time on drug charges. They’ll be off the streets for several years. They both have pretty extensive records, the judge will see that.” He shakes my hand, “Good job, Rookie.”

I smile like an idiot. Last week while reviewing one of the cases I deemed as part of the “dead hooker” stack, I went back into the storage room in the basement of our station, and found the box containing the evidence for Glimmer’s case, including all of her personal effects. I rummaged through the box and found her purse, going through it completely, and checking every corner and seam. Tucked away in a small, easy to miss pocket, I found two crumpled up receipts for several boxes of store brand pseudoephedrine and batteries. I’ve dealt with a lot of drug dealers and junkies, meaning I can see the signs of meth production a mile away. People need this over-the-counter medication to make it, and battery acid to cut it. Our victim was just stupid enough to pay for it with a debit card instead of cash. I was able to track down the account of the card used to make the purchase back to Cato, which led us to the suspect being brought in today.

As soon as I got the card information and name, I took it to Finnick, since it would open the case back up and I’m apparently not allowed to work on those, yet.

“Thanks, Finnick, it was a lucky guess. I’m really glad to have helped.”

He narrows his eyes at me. “Bullshit. That was more than a lucky guess. Don’t pretend to be modest. That was using your intuition and following through on it. That was detective work.” He stands up and meets me eye-to-eye. “I’m going to request permission from Haymitch to let you sit in on the questioning of the two suspects. I think you’ve earned it.”

I’m in shock, I wasn’t expecting this from him. “Wow. I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”

“You don’t say anything. I do all of the talking - to Haymitch and the suspects.” He tells me and points a finger in my face.

I nod in understanding and try to keep my cool, even though on the inside I want to scream and jump up and down. This is my case. My fucking case. And I’m going to be part of the investigation. Even if it is from the sidelines right now.

I hear the elevator ding and we both look over to see Haymitch walk into the office.

“Good morning, sir.” I say to him in my most professional voice.

He looks up at me, nods his head, and grunts. He makes a beeline for the kitchen and Finnick follows him. Haymitch doesn’t really seem like the morning type and I know he doesn’t want to be bothered with this the second he gets into the office. But the suspects will be here any minute and we need to know if I can be in there or not. I just hope he’s not too pissed off and hungover this morning to grant Finnick’s request. My stomach is in knots waiting to hear the verdict.

Suddenly, I hear Haymitch bellow, “Are you fucking kidding me? He’s been here for two weeks and you want him sitting in on a questioning? Have you lost your goddamn mind?”

My stomach drops. Finnick matches his tone in response, “How is he supposed to learn, Haymitch? He’s the one that found the lead, one that you didn’t. He should get to sit in.”

“Watch your tone, Odair.” He spits back, “I’m not in the mood to deal with this bullshit this morning. I have the Chief of Police breathing down my neck to get our numbers up. We can’t risk this case on a training lesson for the boy. It’s great he found this lead, but we need to let the adults handle this one.”

I flop down in my chair. I feel like a child and I’m almost to the point of wanting to throw a tantrum if they continue on like that. I need to get my mind off of this. Looking down at my desk, I see the Everdeen case file open. At least once a day I pull it out and go through it again and try to figure out what I’m missing. It’s to the point that little girl’s picture is haunting me. I decide to pull it out of the folder and place it in my pocket. Maybe if I look at it away from here I can think clearer and come up with the answer I need.  

Finnick and Haymitch pass me on the way to their offices. Haymitch doesn’t even look at me as he walks into his office and slams the door. Finnick nods for me to follow him into his office and waits for me to enter before closing the door. “Hey, I’m sorry about all of that. I really don’t think it’s a reflection on you.”

I sit down in one of his guest chairs. I can’t stop my knee from shaking and I’m trying my best not to blow up at the wrong person. I can’t help myself and blurt out what’s been bothering me since I started: “What the hell is wrong with that guy? He’s a fucking drunk and just stays in his office all day! He won’t even let me answer those Monday morning calls for the fucking Everdeen case that I’m working!”

Finnick sighs and sits down in his chair. “Well, right now the main thing wrong with him is that our Chief of Police, Crane, is a piece of shit and only wants to look good for his constituents. He causes Haymitch a lot of problems and really ties our hands in this department.” Finnick plays with a rubber band on his desk, tying it into knots and loosening them again. “But his drinking problem’s been around a lot longer than Crane has our Chief. He saw his wife get shot during a holdup when he was just starting out as a cop.”

I feel my eyes grow wide in shock. “Holy shit.”

“Yeah, ‘holy shit’ is right.” He ties another knot. “Chaff told me about it not too long after I started here because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut and confronted him about Haymitch smelling like booze at work.”

“He was just a couple years in on the force and married with a baby on the way. He’d been working several long shifts in a row and his wife Maysilee wanted to make a nice meal for him when he got home. Well, she didn’t have something she needed, milk, eggs, something like that, and went to the convenience store. It got held up, Haymitch and his partner Chaff were called to the scene, and the son of a bitch that held the place up took Maysilee hostage and shot her right in front of Haymitch before killing himself. He lost his wife and baby that day. It was terrible, unnecessary, and traumatic, and he’s been drinking ever since. He even sleeps in his office a couple nights a week just because he can’t get away from the nightmares.”

I cringe. “I feel like a dick now for being so mad at him.”

“Don’t; he still shouldn’t be drinking at work and it doesn’t excuse him from acting like an asshole all the time. That was almost 20 years ago, he can’t blame his problems on that forever.”

Just then, Haymitch walks into the office and I pray he didn’t hear anything we just said. “If you two hens are done clucking, I suggest Odair get his ass into the interrogation room. Chaff just dropped those two kids off.” He looks down at me, “Kid, you can watch the questioning from the monitor in my office. Don’t fucking touch anything in there.”

We all part and go on our separate ways. After about three hours of intensive questioning, that kid Marvel broke and they got a confession out of him. Both Marvel and Cato are going to be tried for Glimmer’s murder. I helped solve my first case in Panem.

\----------

That evening, I decide to celebrate and go back to The Hob for a beer. I’m not going to lie, I’m kind of on a high right now. After everything that happened today, I even got a handshake and “good job” from Haymitch. I know I’m pushing my luck, but I really hope to see that waitress again.

I’m sure I look like an idiot when I walk into the bar with a huge smile plastered on my face. I make eye contact with Cinna before sitting down at the bar and he has my beer sitting there waiting for me.  

“Well, someone’s in a good mood tonight.” Cinna winks at me, setting his elbows on the bar and rests his chin in his hands.

“You’re looking as lovely as ever, Cinna. And I had a great day at work, as a matter of fact.”

He bats his eyes at me. “Sweetie, you better not be flirting with me. I thought we were trying to hook you up with my girl over there.” He points to the waitress and I turn to see her.

I take a swig of beer. “Oh, I’m definitely still interested in her, but I’m in such a good mood, I had to spread the joy around.”

He playfully slaps me on the arm and turns away to tend to another customer. I smile at the waitress when she drops off a bowl of pretzels for me again, and she scowls. I’m pretty sure at this point, she thinks I’m creepy. But even that can’t get me down right now.

I try my best to not watch her while I work on my beer, but it’s hard to look anywhere else. Not to sound like a complete pervert, but I want to thank whomever came up with their little uniforms at this place. Those black pants on her do amazing things for her ass. I’m pretty sure somewhere Rye is smiling proudly at me knowing I can’t keep my eyes off of it. She doesn’t really wear much, if any, makeup. I really like that she’s naturally pretty. Sometimes I can see a little hint of a smile when she’s talking to customers and I want to make her do that myself. Unfortunately, with the way things are looking right now, I’m going to have to settle for confused expressions and deep scowls. But I’d take it if it meant she was at least talking to me.

I drain the last sip of beer from its green bottle and set it to the side to let Cinna know that I want another one. I decide it’s time to come back to reality and focus on the Everdeen case again. I know that I want to do a new round of questioning, but I don’t just want to go over the same things as before. The girl’s boyfriend will definitely be the first interviewee. After reviewing the case, I don’t think he had anything to do with her disappearance, but I want to get more information on what she was like in school, who she hung out with. Maybe we could even talk to some of those kids’ parents. They weren’t asked the first time around and I’d like to see if anything was missed.

There has to be something else that I am missing, though. I pull out the picture of Primrose and stare at it. I get lost in thought staring at her blue eyes and long, blonde hair. She’s so innocent, it makes my stomach turn to think of what happened to her when she was kidnapped. I see my bottle move out of the corner of my eye, I look up and see the waitress pick it up and shake it.

She looks down at me. “Would you like another?”

I nod and drop the picture to the bar. Her eyes widen in shock and suddenly her face turns serious and I can almost see flames in her eyes as she begins to yell at me. “You son of a bitch!”

I am completely shocked. “Excuse me?”

She drops her tray, beer bottles and glasses crashing and scattering across the floor. Her voice gets louder and louder and I can feel the hatred in her tone. “You sick motherfucker, you took her, didn’t you?”

I don’t even know how to respond.

Wait, did she just say I  _took_  her?

“You took Prim! I’m going to fucking kill you!” She lunges at me and just before she makes contact, I see Cinna hold her arms behind her back.

“Katniss, stop! He didn’t take Prim! You need to calm down. You’re making a scene in front of the customers.” He looks at me with pleading eyes, willing me to make her stop.

I don’t know how, though. I break eye contact with him and look down at the bar. I see Primrose’s picture. Prim’s picture. Suddenly it all makes sense. That is why the waitress looked so familiar. This is Katniss Everdeen, Primrose Everdeen’s sister. And she thinks I kidnapped Prim.

I stand up, ready to make my case, but she breaks in, “I don’t fucking care if I am making a goddamn scene. I want someone to call the police! This piece of shit took my sister!”

“Katniss, I didn’t take your sister.” I tell her in what I hope is a calm voice. “I’m Peeta Mellark.  _Detective_  Peeta Mellark. Finnick put me on her case. I’m the new guy he was telling you about.”

Her entire body goes slack in Cinna’s arms when what I tell her sinks in. Her voice is almost a whisper. “You’re the new detective?”

I pull out a business card from my shirt pocket and hand it to her. “Here, this is my card. I’m sorry you had to find out this way, but I’m really glad that we got to meet. I had been wanting to put a face to the name for a while now.”

“Were you coming here to get information on me?”

“I didn’t know who you were until just now.” I clear my throat and can feel the rising warmth in my cheeks.  “The only information I have been trying to get on you was so I could ask you out sometime. But, with the new circumstances, I’m going to go ahead and guess that is off the table.”

She picks up the photo from the bar and traces it with her fingers. Her eyes are starting to well up and she takes a deep breath. “Are you really going to try and find out what happened to my sister?”

“I swear to you I’ll do everything I can to help. This case is my number one priority.”

With a shaky hand, she passes me the picture. “Okay.”

I give her a small, reassuring smile. “I have a lot of ideas for your sister’s case. I’d really like to run them by you sometime. Would you be able to meet me for coffee tomorrow morning?”

She steps away from me. “What, like a date?”

It hurts a little that the idea of a date with me turns her off so much, but I have to keep this professional. “No, not a date. This is completely work related. I really want to get all of the information I can from you on this. I don’t want to leave any stone unturned. Think about it tonight, and tomorrow you can tell me every bit of information you can recall, and if there was anything you think we should have done before, but didn’t. I want to make this right. I want to make sure you get the answers you need.”

Her grey eyes are unsure about her decision, but she pushes forward anyway. “I’m free at one o’clock tomorrow afternoon.”

I let out a sigh of relief. “That’s perfect. So that means you’ll allow it?”

“I’ll allow it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for reading, reviewing, following, and recommending our story! We all are just blown away with the kind words and support everyone has given us. We hope you continue reading and reviewing!
> 
> Thank you to our beta sunfishdunes for her excellent work and super fast turnaround. And also a big thank you to our pre-readers jennagill and desertginger. Your input and support is greatly appreciated. 
> 
> Please come say hi to us on tumblr, we love hearing from you! I am loveforpanem, and the other two co-authors for this story are madefrommemoriesff and soamazinghere. 
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> Chapter 6 featuring Katniss is coming up soon!


	6. Katniss

[](http://s1351.photobucket.com/user/madefrommemories/media/TEIB-bannercopy_zpsd414a2a8.jpg.html)

Chapter 6: Katniss

 ----------

 The morning sun peeks through the bare limbs of the trees, the shadows of the branches dappling the snow beneath my feet. Lady trots happily down the path ahead of me, her breath making curls of steam in the cool winter air.

It’s warm for this time of year, just cold enough to give my skin that pleasant tingle as the exertion of my fast pace brings heat to my cheeks. It’s a perfect day for a walk in the woods.

The trees look different in the winter, and I miss the green of the foliage around me, the grass and moss below my feet, but I still feel at home here. I’ve always liked the woods; maybe because I love the plants, or maybe because it is a place that is all my own. It’s quiet, and there are no people to gawk at “the girl with the dead sister” with curiosity, or worse, pity. They all know my face, my name. No place is safe from the stares except here.

And for some reason, in the woods, I can think of Prim and feel happy, almost like she never disappeared.

I come here whenever I can.

When we were kids, before Dad died in the mines, he used to bring us here on his days off. Prim would play in the meadow while I climbed the neighboring trees under Dad’s watchful eye. Every once in awhile he would sing, and the birds would all go quiet as if they were listening to him. He had a beautiful voice. Sometimes I would even sing with him, back when I had reasons to sing.

There are fewer trees now than there once were; right around the time of Prim’s disappearance, they ripped down a huge swath of forest and decimated the meadow to make room for an arena they were building. It makes me angry just thinking about it; that they destroyed this beautiful place that was full of memories, to build that monstrosity.

I only have a few hours of free time today, and tomorrow when I have to do double the chores, I might regret spending them here. But my meeting with Detective Peeta Mellark this afternoon is sure to be a hellish ordeal, and I wanted to spend the morning somewhere happy.

When I saw the photo of Prim in his hand that night at the bar, it was like being hit in the stomach with a two by four. My breath rushed out of me, leaving my lungs struggling for air, and my whole body tensed up. It had to be him, the one who took her. Why else would this stranger be carrying around her picture?

They say that when confronted with danger, a wild animal has two options: fight or flight. I chose to fight. Once I recovered from the shock, only Cinna grabbing my arms from behind kept me from attacking this strange man with everything I had. Cinna held me back until the stranger could explain that he was the new detective Finnick had told me about when we talked on the phone the other week.

I don’t know what I expected - maybe a balding, seasoned old man on the road to retirement, looking for a little less high paced environment than the big city - but it certainly wasn’t this young, broad shouldered guy with a full head of wavy blonde hair. I’m not sure what to think about him. He seems nice enough, but unless I’m misjudging his age, he seems too young to be a detective. I know he’s not lying about his position - I cleared it with Finnick first thing this morning - but I can’t help but wonder what he did to make detective at his age.  

I hope he doesn’t think this is a date. He did admit that he had wanted to ask me out, and despite his assurances that this meeting was to discuss the case only, I can’t help but wonder if he’s got ulterior motives. He seems okay, I guess, but I don’t date and it’s bound to be a little awkward, with his admission hanging over our heads. The only reason I agreed to go with him was because he wanted to talk to me about Prim’s case, and if it turns out to be a ruse, there’ll be hell to pay.

We round a curve in the path and I see the looming face of the arena through the trees. Almost immediately, Lady starts to get agitated. Her leash, normally dangling loose between us, snaps tight and she starts pulling excitedly, wheezing as her collar cuts off her breathing.

“Lady, quit it!” I yell at her, winding the leash around my other hand to get a better grip. She ignores me, yipping excitedly between wheezes and scrabbling uselessly in the snow.

Maybe there’s a rabbit hole in this area or something, but I know the spot because she always gets weird when I can see the arena through the trees. She’s always been such a calm dog, ever since she grew out of puppyhood. The only time I can remember her ever behaving this way, besides at this one part of the path, was on the day that Prim disappeared.

“Ugh, screw it,” I say frustratedly and stop in my tracks. I push back the sleeve of my jacket to check Dad’s watch and see that it’s probably time to head back, anyway. “C’mon idiot, we’re going home.” I turn around and drag Lady after me until she gives up and turns in the right direction, casting one last forlorn look over her furry shoulder.

__________

Back at home, I stand in my bedroom in my bra and panties, starting critically at my closet. It’s been so long since I went anywhere with anyone besides Gale and the other Hawthorne kids that I don’t even remember what kind of outfit is acceptable for a meeting like this.

I pull out a long, soft green tunic sweater, a gift from the Hawthornes this Christmas that I haven’t yet had occasion to wear, and match it with a pair of leggings. I pull them on and look at myself in the mirror for a moment, considering. The dark green actually looks kind of nice against the olive tones of my skin, and the cut is kind of flattering, even though I don’t have any curves to speak of. I arrange my hair around my shoulders, and catch myself smiling at my own reflection like some vain, idiotic teenager.

 _Fuck it._ My smile twists into a scowl and I pull the sweater back off over my head, kicking the leggings towards the far wall of my room. It’s not a date. Why should I bother dressing up for him?

Lady watches my antics with interest from her perch on my bed, lifting her head from her paws to watch me fling my clothing around the room. “Shut up,” I grumble at her. “You’re a dog; what do you know.” She stares at me unblinkingly until I roll my eyes and turn back to my closet.

I'm nervous for reasons I don't understand. I've told my story a hundred times, talked to what seems like a million different officers, detectives, reporters. I don't know why this should feel any different. He's just another cop who probably won't be able to do anything to find her, anyway.

I replace the leggings with a pair of well-worn blue jeans and the sweater with a t-shirt, then zip a ratty, old, grey hoodie over top. Lastly, I whip my hair into its customary braid down my back. Perfect.

Forcing down the flutters in my stomach, I turn my back on the mirror and sweep out of the house, snatching my purse and the truck keys off the kitchen table on my way out the door.

I climb into the old truck and turn the key in the ignition. To my dismay, it does nothing but make a sad chugging sound. I give it a little gas - still nothing. “Son of a bitch," I curse under my breath. Hopefully it's just the starter, which Gale and I can fix pretty easily on my day off. That is, if he has time to help me, in between dates and skiing trips.

But even if he can, that doesn't help me now, when I need to get to the coffee shop to meet Detective Mellark. The Hawthorne kids are all at work or school, so I won't be able to bum a ride off of any of them, Cinna's all the way across town and I don't have anyone else I can ask. I guess I'm walking.

I walk briskly and it's not too far, but even so, by the time I open the door to the shop, I'm twenty five minutes late, according to Dad's watch. I spot the detective immediately, sitting in a patch of early afternoon sunlight by the window. He looks different than he did the times I've seen him at the bar; his hair is neatly combed back from his forehead and he's wearing a dark grey suit with a white shirt and striped blue tie. He appears to be doodling on a pad of paper which sits beside a beige manilla folder stuffed full of paper - Prim's file.

He sees me and stands up, shoving the pad under the file before I get a chance to see what he's been drawing, and smiles the glaringly even, white smile of someone who’s never missed a dentist appointment and never forgets to floss. “Katniss, I'm glad you made it,” he says, holding out a hand for me to shake. “I was starting to think I was getting stood up.” I eye him suspiciously, trying to decide if he's mocking me or criticizing me for my lateness, before taking his outstretched hand and shaking it warily.

“Detective Mellark,” I reply. His hand is warm and dry, his shake firm but not too much so.

“Please, call me Peeta!” He meets my eyes with a genuine smile before releasing my hand and letting me sit down.

"Okay... um... Peeta. Sorry I'm late," I say awkwardly, sliding into the chair opposite him as he sits back down as well.

He shakes his head, waving away my apology. "Oh, don't worry about it! Think of it this way: I got to have an extra half hour getting paid to hang out in this cafe. Awesome way to spend a workday."

I study his face in silence. I don't know what he's playing at. Why is he being so nice?

A pretty red headed girl, who looks to be a little older than me, comes over to our table to take our order. Peeta turns to me. "What would you like, Katniss?”

I think of the sad, empty wallet in my purse, containing only the few bills left from my tips that I haven't set aside for next week’s groceries and utility bills. "Just a coffee, please. Black," I tell the girl, who smiles warmly and then turns to Peeta.

"Oh, no, please get something to eat," Peeta pleads. "It'd be rude of me to eat if you're not, but I'd be heartbroken if I didn't get to try one of their famous donuts." He flashes that set of very white teeth at me. "C'mon. My treat."

I glare at him, feeling a flush rise in my cheeks. "I’m not hungry,” I lie, “and I don't need your charity." _And it’s not a date!_ I want to scream.

"Oh no, it’s not charity! I have an expense account with the Station for just this type of occasion.” I narrow my eyes at him, disbelieving. “Please, pick whatever you want; it's on the Panem County Police Department." He smiles brightly.

"Fine. I'll have a Honey Glazed donut," I say, picking one at random. Peeta orders the same, flashing a friendly smile at the girl before she leaves to make our orders.

"I love donuts," he admits to me in a conspiratorial whisper. I feel the corner of my mouth twitch of its own accord. He notices and laughs good naturedly. “I know, cop who likes donuts, what a surprise.” At least from what I can see under the suit, he doesn’t have the belly of a cop who loves pastries. Far from it.

Our coffee and donuts come, and we eat and sip in silence for a few moments. They have really great coffee here, and the donuts really are good. I can't remember the last time I had a donut; it was definitely more than six years ago.

When Peeta finishes his donut, he wipes his fingers on his napkin and flips open the file. "Well, I guess we'd better get started. My boss, Haymitch - that is, Detective Abernathy - will probably be pretty pissed at me if I take too much time before getting back to the office."

He hesitates, then pulls a small tape recorder from his suit pocket. "Do you mind if I record our conversation?"

I eye the device warily, drawing my hands back to tuck them under the table as if the thing might bite me. "Why?"

"Just so I can go over your story on my own. It'll be easier than trying to write it all down, and then I can have your whole story on tape if I ever need a refresher."

"Isn't my whole statement already in there?" I wave my hand at the file in front of him.

He nods. "Yes, and I've read everything it says, too. But I don't want to hear your words through another cop's writing; I want to hear them directly from you. You knew Primrose the best, and you were the only person there that day. Your story is the most important of anyone who’s got a part to play in this, and I want to hear all of it in your words."

Despite how I feel about being recorded on tape, I'm pleased. Everyone else who was on the case is sick of hearing my story, but Peeta sounds sincere. I'm sure he's only playing the game, trying to get ahead at work by impressing his bosses with what he can discover, but I guess if it gets me what I want, and he looks a little closer at the file, I'll play along, too.

"Okay," I agree finally, and he smiles, pulling the pad of paper out from under the file again. I watch curiously, trying to see his doodle, but all I see is a flash of blue ink from his ballpoint pen as he folds the top sheet around the back, exposing a fresh sheet.

He sets the recorder between us and depresses the record button, then positions his pen over the blank paper. "Okay, Katniss. Why don't you start at the beginning? Please don't leave anything out - tell me everything that happened that day, no matter how irrelevant you think it might be."

I nod stiffly, suddenly nervous. For some reason, being recorded makes me feel as though I have an audience, and I was never good with crowds. Slowly at first, but gradually flowing more freely, I describe the day; everything down to the temperature, the dog walk we went on, and the cone of Bubblegum and Cookies and Cream ice cream that I bought for Prim that day.

Peeta listens intently, his pen flying over the paper, jotting down notes as I talk. Every once in awhile, he asks me questions. When we get to the part about me dropping her off, he stops me.

"Sorry, to interrupt. Who else was there, when you dropped her off?"

I shrug. "A couple of the parents of kids who were playing at the center. They have a lot of activities there, not just Girl Scouts."

"Do you remember seeing anything unusual? Any people who looked suspicious to you? Any vehicles you didn't recognize, anyone there without a child?"

I shake my head. I don’t have to think about it; I’ve gone over it in my head thousands of times, trying to see some clue that wasn’t there. "I don't know everyone in town and I didn't pay much attention, but no one stood out. "

He nods, making a note on his pad. "Okay. And then it says in the file that you went to get groceries before going back to pick her up. Is that correct?"

I feel a flush of shame spread across my cheeks and I drop my eyes. "Yes," I say quietly. _Yes, it was my fault she was taken_ , I want to tell him. _You can't hate me for it any more than I hate myself_.

"And what about when you went to pick her up?" I can feel his blue eyes on my face but I refuse to meet his gaze.

I shake my head. "There was no one there when I got to the center. No one strange and none of the usual vehicles."

"And what happened then?"

I hesitate. I’ve never told anyone else about my experience with Lady outside the center, but he'd said not to leave anything out. The worst that could happen is that he thinks I’m crazy, and I remind myself that I’m not supposed to care what he thinks.

"There was a... feeling." I pick at a fault in the wood of the table top. "My dog was with me, and she went nuts, barking and stuff. And I felt like... like Prim was with me. Like she was trying to tell me something." I shake my head. "It's stupid. She couldn’t have been there. I mean, I thought at first that maybe I heard her call and didn't realize I'd heard it, but I looked everywhere, and so did the police, and they didn't find her."

He's silent for a moment, and then his hand reaches across the table to touch mine. I pull back, startled, and look up to meet his eyes again. He’s pale, and he has the strangest look on his face as his eyes bore into mine.

"What?" I ask harshly, feeling the color rise in my cheeks again at his scrutiny.

He opens his mouth as if to speak, but then shakes his head as if to clear it. "No, nothing." He pulls his hand back to his side of the table as if nothing had happened. "Go on. What happened next?"

I take a deep breath. "I went into the center to look for her and saw that her meeting had been cancelled. I just knew there was something wrong, since she wasn't there waiting for me. I searched around the whole center, and she wasn't there. It's not like Prim to wander far, so I called the police right away, and then went looking for her myself. They didn't find her and neither did I. All they found was that stupid ribbon that she was wearing in her hair."

My voice cracks on the word “ribbon”, and I try to cover it with a cough.

"You must have loved her a lot," he says softly. Startled, I look up at him. He's watching me solemnly, and I can see the pity in his eyes. That’s the last thing I need; more pity.

"Do you have siblings?" I ask him suddenly.

He nods. "Two brothers."

"And are you close?"

"As close as most brothers are, I guess," he says with a shrug. “More so with my middle brother, Rye.”

I take a sip of my coffee, trying to keep my face composed. "Prim and I weren’t just like most sisters. I loved Prim more than anything else in the world. More than either of my parents, more than my best friend, more than any guy I've ever been with. She was the only person in the world I was certain that I loved."

He gives me a moment of silence as I struggle to keep my emotions off of my face. Then he says, "What was she like?" and for some reason I can't explain, I answer.

"She was perfect. She was beautiful and loving and kind. Already there were boys lining up for her. She had soft, blonde hair like silk, and bright blue eyes, and fair skin. She always had to wear sunscreen to keep from burning." I smile in spite of myself. "After our dad died, I took care of her, but I could never say no to her, so she was a little spoiled. She loved everyone, saw the good in everyone. If she had one fault, it was that she trusted too much." My voice breaks again as my smile disappears. "And it probably got her killed."

He's quiet, and doesn't comment on my loss of composure. I'm grateful that he doesn't try to comfort me. He seems to know that I need to pretend that I'm fine, even though I'm not. Even though I'll never be fine again.

I hear a click as he reaches out and switches off the recorder. I let out a breath that I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

“So, I’ve got a few ideas of what I want to do on the case,” he says, forging on as if nothing has happened. I’m grateful for the change in subject.

“This is the first part of course: interviewing you, hearing your side of the story, what happened that day. I want to go through the file with a fine-toothed comb, look for anything the others may have missed.” As he’s talking, he flips through the file page by page, not meeting my eyes, giving me a chance to compose myself. “Then after that, it’s all dependent on permission from my boss, but I want to interview anyone who was a person of interest again, just so that I can rule them out.”

“Does that mean you have to talk to Rory again?” I interrupt. Thankfully, my voice sounds normal again.

He looks up at me, surprised. “Rory Hawthorne? Primrose’s boyfriend? Do you know him?”

I roll my eyes before I can stop myself. “He was never her boyfriend. They were just friends, at least when she-” _was taken_ , I was going to say, but the words get stuck in my throat. I stop and take a deep breath before continuing on a different tack. “He’s my friend Gale’s brother. They questioned him the first time, but he wasn’t involved. I know it.”

“I’m sure that’s true,” he assures me, “but I’ll probably have to talk to him anyway. It should be easy to rule him out and then we can get on with the case.”

“Okay,” I answer. He clears his throat and his eyes go back to his notes.

“I also want to call up the police officers from other towns nearby; see if they have any record of similar cases. Maybe Primrose’s disappearance isn’t a one-time thing, and if other girls have gone missing, maybe we can find some new evidence which could link them and shed light on multiple cases.”

I find myself watching him, staring at his face as he talks. His eyelashes are almost impossibly long, a golden frame around the bright blue of his eyes. Suddenly, he looks up at me and seeing me staring, stops talking. I feel the blood rush to my cheeks, embarrassed at having been caught.

“What good is this going to be?” I blurt out to cover my embarrassment. “They did all this six years ago. And why do you care so much about this one case? I’m sure you’ve got other cases to worry about. What are you trying to do?”

He blinks at my sudden belligerence. “I can’t explain why, really, but this case... it means something to me. It’s important. I can feel it.” He puts his pen down and closes the file, pushing it off to the side of the table, out of the way, and folds his hands together on the table in front of him. I watch him with wary eyes.

“Growing up... I didn’t have the best of families. My brothers, we had a good enough relationship, and my dad is great. But my mom...”

He pauses and my curiosity gets the better of me. “Your mom what?”

“She smacked us around a bit when we pissed her off,” he answers, his voice neutral. “Nothing terrible. It was worse for me than my brothers.”

He’s silent for a moment, and my stomach turns as the weight of his words hits me like a ton of bricks. “Sounds pretty terrible to me,” I say, fidgeting uncomfortably.

He shrugs. “The verbal abuse was worse. I had very poor self esteem, growing up. That’s a big part of why I wanted to become a cop, so that I could help other kids who are in similar and worse situations.”

He pauses to take a sip of his coffee and I wonder at his composure. My mother was never a very good parent, and when my dad died, she basically stopped caring for us. Certainly she stopped caring for me after Prim disappeared; I became an adult that very day. But for all her neglect, her disregard for our well-being, never did she lay a finger on me in anger, or call me a bad name. I can’t imagine what it would be like to grow up in that sort of home.

“I’m sorry-” I begin, but he cuts me off with a wave of his hand.

“No, no, I didn’t tell you that to make you feel sorry for me. I just want you to understand where I came from.” He sets his mug back down on the table.

“On my first day on the job, Finnick gave me a stack of cold cases,” he continues. “I looked through them all, and of course, I’m going to do my best to solve them all. But there was something about this one, something that drew me to it. To her.”

He reaches in his suit pocket and pulls out the photo of Prim that he had with him at the bar the other night, and places it on the table, turning it to face me. “This girl, she’s special. I feel like I know her. The way you’ve just described her, it’s like I already knew all of it about her, from the moment I opened her file.” He runs a hand through his hair, mussing his neat part,  and suddenly he looks like that tired and desperate young man again from the first night I met him at the bar. “She’s lost, and she needs to be found. I want to help her. I _need_ to help her, if I can.”

The fingers of my right hand reach out to caress the edge of the photograph, which is starting to become worn from being carried in his pocket and flipped past in the file for so many years. It’s Prim’s last school photo. I remember that Mom curled her hair for picture day, and she wanted to do the same with mine, but I refused.

He’s right. She _is_ special. Or was special, since I’m pretty sure she’s dead. My eyes flicker up to meet his and I see nothing but sincerity. Either he means it, and he really wants to find out what happened to her, or he’s a damn good liar.

I decide to trust him for now. “Thank you,” I whisper, dropping my gaze.

Peeta takes the picture from the center of the table and tucks it safely back in the file. “So,” he says with a smile. “I think we’re done for now, and I should probably get back to the station. Do you want anything to go, or should I settle the tab?”

I shake my head. “I’m good, thanks.”

He goes to the front of the shop and pays the girl with the red hair, and then holds the door for me as we leave. “Bye,” I call over my shoulder and start walking down the street towards home.

“Katniss, wait!”

I stop and wait for him to catch up to me. “You don’t have a vehicle here?” he asks.

I shake my head. “My truck wouldn’t start; that’s why I was late getting here.”

“Well, let me give you a ride,” he says, gesturing towards the black Taurus parked in front of the shop in the angle parking.

“It’s okay,” I say, “it’s not far.”

“C’mon Katniss, don’t be stubborn. It’s cold out, and it’ll only be five minutes out of my way. Just let me drive you.”

I sigh. “Fine.”

We drive to my house in silence, except for the directions I give him as we go. My truck is taking up the whole driveway, so he pulls up to the curb in front of my house.

“Thanks for coming down, today, Katniss.” He holds out his hand towards me awkwardly and we shake again.

I nod. “You’ll call? If you find anything?”

He smiles, and I think I feel him give my hand a little squeeze before letting go. “Of course. Your numbers are all in the file.” He hands me his card. “And you call me if you think of anything else that could be important. Oh, and Haymitch finally gave me permission to take your calls, and he wanted me to ask you to call my desk directly from now on so he doesn’t have to hear their phone ring that early on Monday mornings.” His grin stretches across his face now and I let out a little huff of laughter. Yeah that sounds like Haymitch.

“Okay, I will.”

I get out of his car and shut the door behind me, going into my house without another backward glance. But as I shut the door behind me, I watch his car drive away down the street.

Peeta isn’t like any of the other uniformed cops or detectives I spoke to after Prim’s disappearance. He’s hardly like any man I’ve ever met. He sounds pretty confident and hopeful about his plan for the case, and for some reason he gives me hope, too.

It makes no sense. Maybe it’s his kindness, his openness with me about his family situation, or just that he has a gift to influence people. There are definitely worse people I could have on my sister’s case. Whatever the reason, I trust him, even though I tell myself that I shouldn’t.

And I can’t help but wonder if I’ll see him at The Hob again tonight.


	7. Primrose

Chapter 7: Primrose

__________

I’m running so fast I can barely catch my breath. I’ve got to find Johanna and tell her what I just saw.

 

When I reach the meadow, I see the lights on in her cabin so I hurry to her front door. Flinging it open, I call, “Jo? Jo?”

 

I hear a clatter in the kitchen and before I know it, Johanna is standing in front of me with a look of concern in her eyes. She puts her hands on my arms and asks, “Are you alright? What happened?”

 

I nod quickly, but take a moment to gulp down a few breaths before continuing. I squeeze her arms and look her directly in the eyes. “Katniss is going on a _date_!” I squeal excitedly.

 

“What?” she asks, confused. Dropping my arms, she motions for me to follow her back to the kitchen, where she begins cleaning up a spilled mug of tea that sits on the table. “You nearly scared the shit out of me to tell me _that_?”

 

“Sorry,” I apologize, moving quickly to help her clean up. “I just couldn’t believe it.”

 

“Uh, I don’t believe it either,” she responds, looking at me as she walks across the room to place her mug in the sink. “My impression of Brainless - and correct me if I’m wrong - is that she treats pretty much all men as, um,” Jo pauses to think for a minute, “potential violent criminals?”

 

I decide right then and there not to tell Jo about how Katniss tried to attack Peeta, or how she accused him of taking me. Or the fact that he said their meeting wasn’t a date. Those details aren’t important.

 

Here’s all that matters to me right now: 1. Peeta said he liked my sister. 2. He asked her to meet him for coffee. 3. Katniss said yes. Put those three facts together, and as far as I’m concerned, it’s a date.

 

“You’re wrong. She’s going on a date,” I confirm, dropping into one of the kitchen chairs and leaning forward on my elbows.

 

Johanna snorts derisively, resting against the counter and shaking her head. “Please. Remember when Cinna started working at the bar? And you thought he was hitting on Katniss when he asked her to go _shopping_ with him?” she pointedly reminds me.

 

My cheeks flame with embarrassment. She never lets me forget that. And I’ll admit, it wasn’t my finest moment when it came to reading people. What can I say? I had very limited experience with men before I died.

 

But Johanna’s biased. As much as I try to convince her otherwise, she thinks that my sister, um...makes bad choices, to put it more diplomatically than Johanna ever does. That’s probably obvious by her choice of the nickname “Brainless.” She finds Katniss pretty frustrating.

 

I’ve spent years defending my sister and trying to get Johanna to see her as the beautiful, caring person I know she is, but her opinion hasn’t wavered.

 

By now, Johanna knows almost everything there is to know about me, both from before and after my death. She saw how I died, and I can’t think of anything I could possibly have to hide or any good reason to hide it from her. I don’t always like coming here to the lake by myself, so sometimes I invite her along. She always volunteers her opinions about the people I’m watching; that’s how she’s gotten to know my sister.

 

But as much as she knows about my life, I can’t say I know very much about Jo, though. She’s strangely guarded about her past. She’s told me a few things, but with only minimal details, and always only when I asked her directly. I know that she’s from a small town in British Columbia. She has three half-sisters who are quite a bit younger than her - I think she told me they were 10, 8, and 6 when she died. Her sisters live with Jo’s mom and stepfather. But that’s all I know, if you can believe it. I don’t even know how she died.

 

I don’t press her, though, because I understand as well as anyone here why she might have painful memories she doesn’t want to discuss. I certainly don’t go around volunteering information about my death to people who don’t already know it; I don’t want anyone to feel sad or uncomfortable. No one needs to feel sorry for me. Now that I’m here, I’m fine.

 

Johanna rummages in the freezer and asks over her shoulder, “Do you want some dessert?”

 

I haven’t even had dinner, but one of the advantages of being dead is not caring about things like ruining my appetite. And having dessert for dinner is totally acceptable, so I agree enthusiastically. She brings us each a bowl of ice cream and my eyes light up as I see that she’s included both of my favorites: Bubblegum and Cookies and Cream. “You’re awesome, Jo!” I tell her as I dig in.

 

“Well, I need more details about your sister and this supposed ‘date,’” she informs me as she starts eating. “Are you sure this guy isn’t her shrink or something?”

 

I glare at her. “He asked her out in a _bar_ ,” I tell her.

 

“The bar where she works?”

 

“Yep!” I exclaim.

 

“That doesn’t make this story more promising,” Jo says. “Drunk bar patron asks out the bartender? And she said yes? She really is brainless if - “

 

I cut her off in frustration. “He wasn’t drunk!” I huff. “He’s a police officer.”

 

With those words, Johanna nearly chokes on her ice cream. She gets up and runs to the sink to get a drink of water. After gulping it down, she turns back to me with a horrified look on her face. “That’s fucking _disgusting_ , Prim! Is it that Abernathy guy? He’s old enough to be your dad, and from what I’ve seen of him, I’m _sure_ he was drunk at the time.”

 

“No, no, no, no, no! It’s not him,” I assure her. “Even Katniss has standards.” She must, given the fact that she hasn’t let any men near her - well, aside from the Hawthorne boys and Cinna - for the past six years.

 

Johanna barks out a short, sarcastic laugh. “If you say so.”

 

“This is a new guy,” I explain, “and besides, you haven’t seen every police officer in Panem. They’re not all like Detective Abernathy.”

 

She sits back down across from me and gives me a skeptical look. “Keep going. I still see no evidence of a ‘date’ occurring.”

 

I sigh in frustration. “Fine. Here’s what you need to know,” I begin, ticking off the points on my fingers. “He’s young, he’s cute, and _he said he wanted to ask her out_. And then he did! There you go,” I say triumphantly.

 

Johanna narrows her eyes at me and crosses her arms over her chest. “I don’t know,” she says slowly. “I just don’t see your sister ever agreeing to go on a date. And why would this guy ask her out? From what I’ve seen of her - no offense, Prim - she acts like a bitch pretty much all the time.”

 

“That’s not true, Jo!” I exclaim indignantly. “She talked to this guy like a totally normal person, okay?” _Um, excluding what happened when she saw him holding my picture_. “And he really likes her, you should’ve seen how he was staring at her.”

 

Johanna sits in thoughtful silence for a minute. “Does he know about you?” she asks finally.

 

“Yes, but - “

 

“But nothing, Prim,” she interrupts me. “He’s a cop and he probably wants to get ahead in his career by trying to solve a big missing persons case. No way is he sincere. I wish I could warn your sister.”

 

I shake my head, refusing to accept her line of thinking. “No, Jo, you haven’t seen him. He’s not like that.”

 

Part of me knows how silly I’m being in grasping at this tiny bit of hope. But Katniss has given me so few reasons to hope over the past few years that I’ll take anything, _literally anything_ , that suggests to me that she might be able to get better. That she might finally move on.

 

And Jo knows this too; better than anyone here, she knows how fixated I am on Katniss’s well-being. The look on her face turns distant and she stares up at the ceiling. “What if...” she murmurs, almost to herself.

 

“What?” I ask her.

 

She shakes her head and laughs softly, bringing her gaze down from the ceiling. “I can’t believe I’m even saying this, but...what if we spy on their date?”

 

I smile guiltily at her. “Honestly, I was probably going to do that anyway,” I admit.

 

She laughs. “If they only knew how little privacy they have.” I blush at her words, but can’t help giggling along with her.

 

Jo continues, nodding her head confidently as she adds, “Let’s do it! Then we can see for ourselves what’s going on.”

 

I’m so giddy, I’m almost bouncing in my seat. “You’ll have to believe me then!” I tell her.

 

“Let’s just see what happens.”

__________

 

Johanna appears to be absolutely mesmerized. She’s barely moved from her spot next to the lake since we got here and I pointed Peeta out to her.

 

She and I had originally planned to just come here together to watch my sister’s date. But then I suggested that it’d also be helpful to spy on the two of them afterwards to see if we can tell how they feel about the date or each other. And then Jo reasoned that if we were watching them afterwards, we should watch them beforehand as well, to see if either one of them is nervous or acting weird. So basically, our idea to watch an hour-long coffee date morphed into us planning to spend an entire afternoon camped out here on the lakeshore.

 

They better make this worth it.

 

When we got here, we split up to each focus on one person. Since I know her well, I’ve been watching Katniss...but I have to admit, she’s been boring so far. Right now, she’s taking Lady for a walk, just like she does pretty much every morning. Katniss doesn’t vary much from her routine here - I know exactly the path they’ll take, and I know that when they get close to the arena, they’ll have to turn around and go home.

 

Since I died, Lady’s never been able to get very close to the arena. It’s kind of funny - everyone’s been trying so hard to find me for the past six years, and they don’t even realize that _my dog_ _knows exactly where I am_. And I’m pretty sure she thinks that if Katniss would just let her go, she’d run inside and find me.

 

Katniss’s walk with Lady, just like everything I’ve seen so far today, is completely ordinary. Everything happens just as it always does. I sneak a sideways glance at Johanna, who still seems riveted by the scene in front of her. She must have something more interesting to look at.

 

“Hey Jo, can we switch for a minute?” I suggest, wanting a break from the boredom.

 

“Nope,” she responds matter-of-factly, not even raising her eyes to look at me.

 

“Why not?”

 

She shakes her head distractedly. “Blondie‘s the hottest cop I’ve ever seen. You’re too young to appreciate the view over here.”

 

“That’s _not_ why we’re doing this, Jo!” I protest. But she decides to ignore me, so I lie down on my stomach and go back to my surveillance of Katniss.

 

I rip some grass out of the ground and trail one of the long stems in the water, idly making ripples in the surface as I halfheartedly watch my sister act totally normal, not like _she’s about to go on a date_. After Katniss gets home from her walk with Lady, she grabs an apple and munches on it as she quickly flips through the day’s mail. I know that apple is going to be her entire lunch for today - she often does that to try to stretch her food money further. Ugh. She’s probably going to be a cranky, hungry mess by the time she meets Peeta.

 

“Holy shit!” Jo exclaims suddenly, bringing me back to reality. I sit up quickly and scramble over behind her. She mumbles something under her breath, but I only catch the words “hot cops” and “so unfair.”

 

“What is it?” I demand, peering over her shoulder to try to see what she’s seeing. As far as I can tell, it’s just Finnick and Peeta talking about some girl named Cashmere. I don’t see anything interesting in the least. I look at Johanna in confusion. “Nothing’s happening, what’s the problem?”

 

She gives me a look of disdain and pushes me back to where I was watching Katniss. “I _told_ you you couldn’t appreciate this. Go back to Brainless - I wouldn’t want you to miss anything.”

 

“Fine,” I huff. I cross my legs and settle my chin on my hands before I realize that Katniss _is_ doing something strange - for her, anyway. She’s in her room, standing in front of her closet in her underwear. Like she’s going to change clothes, even though she’d already gotten dressed hours earlier.

 

That might not sound weird for most people, but since I died, the only times I’ve ever seen my sister change clothes in the middle of the day are when she’s going to work or going to bed. Or if she’d gotten dirty somehow. So what’s she doing now?

 

_She’s going to meet Peeta, that’s what_. My eyes widen as I realize what this might mean, so I lean forward to make sure I don’t miss anything. Katniss rifles through her closet, pulling out and discarding several articles of clothing - all much nicer than her usual t-shirt and jeans - before she finally settles on a green sweater and black leggings. I can’t help but smile as I see how pretty she looks. And I’m almost giddy thinking that she wants to make herself look nice for Peeta.

 

But then she does something I shouldn’t find surprising in the least: she practically rips off the nice outfit she put together and changes back into the same t-shirt and jeans she wears every day. “Katniss, no!” I cry out without thinking. “You looked beautiful,” I sigh dejectedly under my breath. She can’t hear me of course, and even though I think I briefly catch a look of nervousness crossing her face, it’s gone in an instant and she’s back to glaring at her reflection in the mirror.

 

This is not going well.

 

“So...what’s going on with Peeta?” I ask suddenly, feeling the need for a distraction.

 

“Eh,” she shrugs, “I don’t know. He was mumbling to himself, and I _thought_ I heard him say ‘This isn’t a date,’ but I’m not sure.” She leans back on her hands and looks at me.

 

“What does that even _mean_?” I say, flopping onto my back in frustration.

 

“Don’t ask me. And all he’s done for the past fifteen minutes is sit at his desk and stare off into the distance.”

 

I throw my arm across my eyes and groan. A few minutes pass, and I don’t bother getting up until I hear Jo laugh softly and whisper, “Uh-oh.”

 

I sit up immediately. “What is it?” I ask, alarmed.

 

“Your sister,” she says, pointing.

 

I look for myself and my face falls. “Her car won’t start?” I cry, jumping to my feet. I clench my fists and stomp away from the shore. I purse my lips and breathe deeply for a minute before running back to where Jo sits. She has an amused expression, which annoys me to no end because _this isn’t funny_. 

 

“Don’t laugh, Jo!” I exclaim as I see her trying to hide behind her hands. “What if this is my sister’s only chance for love, huh? What if she spends the next six years just like this? _What if she never meets Peeta?_ ” My voice grows more frantic with each word.

 

Johanna turns toward me and grabs my shoulders. “Calm down, Prim,” she says forcefully. “First of all, I’m pretty sure that she has to meet Peeta sometime - it’s his job, remember? Finding you?”

 

I nod slowly.

 

“And don’t get ahead of yourself calling this her ‘only chance for love,’” Jo reminds me. “We’ve barely even seen the two of them talk yet, okay?”

 

I don’t answer. I just sink my head into my hands and stare at the ground. Katniss is never going to get better without someone to help her, I just know it. So even though I understand what Jo’s saying and why she’s saying it, it’s not that easy for me to shrug off my worries. I feel like I’d be better off preparing myself for the inevitable disappointment.

 

Eventually, Jo lets me know that Katniss started walking to the coffee shop, which makes me feel a little better. At least she didn’t decide to just stand him up. In the meantime, Peeta’s already arrived and found a table to wait, so Jo and I both stare at him in silence for awhile.

 

For several minutes, he sits, nervously rifling through the papers in the thick file about my disappearance and glancing up at the door each time it opens. “I hope he doesn’t leave before she gets there,” I murmur. Johanna reaches over and gives me a reassuring pat on the back.

 

Soon, Jo and I see him take out a notebook and flip to a blank page. He stares at it for a few moments, and I assume that’s he’s going to start writing, maybe taking some notes about his meeting with my sister. Instead, he starts making long strokes across the paper with his pen.

 

“What’s he doing?” Jo asks quietly, almost as if she doesn’t want to disturb him.

 

“I have no idea,” I whisper.

 

We watch, fascinated, as the seemingly-haphazard strokes transform into grass and trees, and the shape of a person appears in the middle of the page. “I know those trees...” I say in a hushed tone.

 

Johanna looks at me incredulously. “Is that - ?”

 

I nod in agreement. No one knows this place better than Johanna and I do - it’s the meadow. But it’s been gone for years...so how does _Peeta_ know about it? How can he reproduce it so well?

 

Jo interrupts my stream of thought. “It’s you, Prim. He’s drawing you.”

 

I look more closely, and sure enough, the figure in the center of the page is now unmistakably me. It’s amazing how true to life the drawing is. In the picture, I’m running across the meadow, my hair down and streaming behind me. The expression on my face is unreadable, but I don’t look unhappy. Honestly, it could be an image from my life now.

 

I’m more than a little bit worried about what Katniss would think if she saw it.

 

Several minutes later, Katniss finally arrives at the cafe. Thankfully, Peeta sees her immediately and has time to quickly cover his drawing and put it under my file. I’m sure that after what happened at The Hob yesterday evening, he’s not taking any chances.

 

Jo and I turn to each other and share a look. _Here goes nothing_ , I think. Expectantly, we settle in to watch the rest of the date.

 

As I hear Katniss and Peeta talk, I start berating myself for getting my hopes up so high. Katniss is being, well...Katniss. Right off the bat, it’s obvious how suspicious she is of him, from her hesitant and formal greeting, to the way she challenged him when he asked to record their conversation, to the hostility she displayed whenever he said anything that a normal person might consider sweet or charming. I close my eyes and let out a disgruntled sigh when she dismisses his simple offer of food as “charity.” She’s trying so hard to keep herself at a distance.

 

Despite my rapidly falling hopes, I continue watching anyway, my mind only wandering a bit when she recounts her version of what happened on the day I died. I’ve heard it a million times already. But I perk back up when I hear her story change from the recitation she’s made so many times before. Well, it doesn’t exactly _change_ , but she describes something new, something that I’ve never heard.

 

Katniss says that she felt that I was _with her_ that day, whatever that means. She describes being in the rec center parking lot, reading a book, Lady going crazy barking, and having the strange sensation that I was there with her. I don’t know what to make of this. Katniss’s feelings have never come up in her story about my death before. She always sticks to the facts.

 

Johanna and I are both completely silent, neither of us wanting to stop the other from hearing something important. But after Katniss mentions the strange feeling she had, I stop paying attention to her and start desperately trying to remember what happened that day. I mean, I _remember_ everything that she described - even though I was panicky and emotional, I have a clear memory of fleeing through the parking lot that day - but I never realized she was aware of my presence. I didn’t think she heard me yelling for her or felt me reach out to her.

 

Did Katniss somehow know I was there? Even though I was already dead?

 

I don’t know how long I sit there, trying to think through the implications of what I just heard, when I’m startled by a sudden short, surprised laugh from Johanna. I look up as she nudges me in the side, and I realize that I’d completely stopped paying attention to my sister and Peeta. “Is your sister doing what I think she’s doing?” she snickers.

 

If I wasn’t paying attention before, I definitely am now. “What?” I ask, straightening up and leaning forward to get a better view. “Oh my god,” I sputter, clapping my hand over my mouth in disbelief. “She is!”

 

I know exactly what Katniss is doing right now; Jo spent quite a bit of time earlier with a very similar look on her face. _She’s checking him out_. And pretty openly too, although he’s not looking at her right now. My sister, the girl who only looks at men to assess their likelihood of being a kidnapper, is practically ogling Peeta. This is a positive new development.

 

Peeta looks up abruptly and I can see the embarrassment on my sister’s face. “She’s blushing!” Jo exclaims.

 

In typical Katniss fashion, she immediately tries to divert Peeta’s attention by being abrasive and challenging. The tactic’s pretty transparent; even I understand what she’s doing, and I’m only fourteen. She thinks Peeta’s going to forget all about what he just saw as long as she distracts him. I cup my hands around my mouth and call to her in a sing-song tone, “You like him, Katniss!”

 

Thank god she can’t hear me. If I weren’t already dead, she’d definitely kill me for spying on her like this.

 

I turn to Jo and shove her playfully. “See? I told you Katniss liked him!”

 

“No, you didn’t,” she laughs. “You told me _he_ liked _her_. Maybe there’s something there, but let’s not forget that Blondie’s pretty easy on the eyes. She might just be having a natural reaction to being in the presence of that level of hotness.”

 

I roll my eyes and stick my tongue out at her. Jo’s been skeptical from the start, but I’m not letting her bring me down now. I know my sister. I’m sure she’s been around other attractive men since I died, and she’s never reacted like this.

 

As we watch the rest of the date, I point out the other little things that I see. Things that only I’d know, I think. Katniss was my best friend, after all. I know what’s normal for her and what most definitely is not. She let him drive her home.  She laughed - she actually _laughed out loud_ \- when he made a joke. Since my death, you’d be hard-pressed to even see my sister crack a smile, much less openly laugh. And Peeta got her to do both! And the very first time they really talked, too.

 

When Katniss thinks she’s alone, as Peeta’s driving down the street to return to work and she’s back inside our house, she stands by the front window and watches him drive away. The look on her face is pretty neutral, but I’m pretty sure that I see the flash of a tiny smile. As a matter of fact, she stays at the window long after Peeta’s left, seemingly lost in thought. I wish I knew what was going through her head.

 

I turn to Johanna. “Well?” I ask her, raising my eyebrows.

 

She jerks her head up, startled. “What? Oh, sorry, I’m watching Blondie now. I’ve got to see how many more hot cops are hiding in this town.”

 

I glance back at my sister, but I see that she’s making her way upstairs to take a shower. I think it’s safe to leave her alone. So I decide to join Jo where she’s spying on the police station.

 

She shows me where Peeta is right now, chatting with Finnick and Haymitch. “Nothing too exciting here either,” she explains over their conversation. “But I think they’re talking about your case.”

 

I scoot closer to where Jo is sitting so that I can listen in. I always try to keep tabs on where things stand with my case, even though there really hasn’t been any headway in six years. But who knows, something could change at any time.

 

As I turn my attention to the police station, I catch Peeta in mid-sentence. I hope I haven’t missed anything important. “...No, she didn’t,” Peeta is saying, laughing in response to something Finnick said that I didn’t quite hear. “She acted like a normal human being.”

 

“But did you learn anything that wasn’t already in there?” Haymitch asks gruffly, gesturing at the thick manila folder that Peeta’s holding under his arm.

 

“Well,” he starts hesitantly, and I can practically see the wheels turning in his head. Katniss most definitely did tell him something new, but how much is he going to reveal? “No. Nothing...relevant to the case, but - ”

 

Haymitch cuts Peeta off mid-sentence and turns to Finnick. “I told you, Odair, it’s a goddamn waste of time putting him on that case. That girl’s long dead; there’s nothing new to find.”

 

Finnick makes a visible effort to stay calm as he responds. “We’re just giving this case the same attention we’re giving the other cold cases - no more, no less. We have to do what we’re _expected_ to do,” he adds, sharing an indecipherable look with Haymitch, who just grunts in response.

 

Peeta looks between the two of them, exasperated, as he crosses his arms over his chest and leans against Finnick’s desk. “I think we should do another round of questioning.” He throws my file down onto the desk and taps it with his finger. “I _know_ there’s more we can get out of these people.”

 

Haymitch shakes his head and turns towards Peeta. “Mellark, you have no fucking idea how careful you need to be here. I don’t want you digging too deep into this one.”

 

I furrow my brow in confusion. What exactly are they suggesting? Why wouldn’t they want to do everything possible to figure out what happened to me? I turn to Johanna with a questioning look, and I see her looking at the scene in disgust. “Typical cops,” she mutters to herself.

 

Peeta spins angrily towards Haymitch. “I can handle this,” he protests. “Why did you hire me if - ”

 

“Peeta, he’s right,” Finnick interrupts, laying a hand on his shoulder. “There’s a lot here you don’t know.”

 

I see Peeta open his mouth to reply, but Haymitch speaks first. “Kid, you can talk to a _few_ people. With some conditions.” Peeta clenches his jaw and gives Haymitch a cold glare. “First, you can’t talk to _anyone_ without clearing it first with me or Odair. And second, you have to record everything and let one of us listen to it.”

 

“But why - ”

 

Haymitch sweeps past Peeta towards the office door. “No ‘buts,’ kid. You either do it my way or we take you off the fucking case. Your decision,” he shrugs, slamming the door behind him as he leaves.

 

Johanna stands up abruptly and brushes the dirt off her pants. “I just can’t watch this anymore, Prim,” she tells me flatly. “These fucking cops are all the same, no matter where you live. You coming?” she asks as she turns to leave.

 

I bite my lip and look between Johanna and the lake. My curiosity’s gotten the better of me now; I have to find out if they say anything else about my case. “I think I’ll stay,” I answer.

 

“Suit yourself,” she says dismissively. “See you back at home.”

 

I turn back to the lake just in time to hear Finnick reassuring Peeta, “...It’s not a personal insult. This has nothing to do with you.”

 

Peeta drops into the guest chair in front of Finnick’s desk and huffs in frustration. “Then what’s going on?”

 

Finnick walks over to stare out the window, turning his back to Peeta. He doesn’t answer for a few moments, and when he does, the answer he gives isn’t very satisfying - for me or for Peeta. “It’s...that little girl disappeared in the wealthier part of town, you know? Some of the people who live around there are...influential,” he explains.

 

Peeta gives him an open look of disbelief and disgust, but remains silent. Finnick sees the look on Peeta’s face and shrugs helplessly. “Look, we could have some problems with the Chief if we bother these people.”

 

“What kind of problems?” Peeta snaps.

 

Finnick walks back to his desk and sinks wearily into his chair. He sighs, “You don’t want to know.”

 

The two of them sit in silence for several minutes. The obvious tension between them is making me nervous, but I can’t tear my eyes away.

 

Peeta’s the first to break the silence. “Look,” he says, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, “can I _at least_ talk to some of the people from the school, then? Maybe the boyfriend?”

 

Finnick thinks for a moment and then nods slowly. “Yeah,” he agrees. “That sounds like a safe place to start.”

 

“Fantastic,” Peeta replies sarcastically as he stands and heads for the door. “I’ll be sure to clear my interview list with you.”

 

“Peeta?” Finnick calls at his back. He stops but doesn’t turn around. “Just remember we set up these rules for a reason. The problems with Chief Crane...well, they might not last forever.”

 

Peeta pauses momentarily, but leaves without responding.

 

I stop watching after that, but I don’t leave the lake. There are too many thoughts running through my head. I lie on my back in the grass, staring absently up at the sky.

 

Nervousness pools in my stomach as I think back to what Peeta said earlier. He’s going to talk to Rory Hawthorne soon. Rory was never _actually_ my boyfriend when I was alive, but somehow, he became that after I died. Funny how that works. I liked him a lot - as more than just a friend - but I never got a chance to tell him. We never went on a date, never even kissed, but somehow our relationship got built up into something it wasn’t in the craziness following my disappearance. The police questioned Rory, of course - comes with the territory of being the missing girl’s “boyfriend,” I guess - but he had an airtight alibi. Still, I feel so guilty that I caused him to be dragged into all of the unpleasantness surrounding my disappearance, and I really don’t want him to have to relive that.

 

And what about the cryptic statements that Finnick and Haymitch were making? Even though I don’t fully comprehend what they were hinting at, I’m worried. I’ve watched the police officers working on my case in the past - although admittedly, I watch them a lot less frequently than I watch Katniss and Mom - but I never had the slightest inkling that the investigation wasn’t completely thorough.

 

It sounds almost like they don’t _want_ my disappearance to be solved. Well, except for Peeta - he does, but that doesn’t matter, because he’s not the one in charge.

 

Are they protecting Snow? Does he matter more than me? I shake my head to try to clear my mind of these thoughts. I notice that the sun is starting to set, so I stand up and decide to go home. These thoughts won’t lead me anywhere worth going. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, as always, to our beta sunfishdunes and our pre-readers jennagill and desertginger. You ladies are the absolute best!
> 
> We appreciate every single one of your reviews and comments on the story. All three of us read each one. Please keep them coming - we want to know what you think! You can also come talk to any of us on tumblr - I’m soamazinghere, and my co-authors are loveforpanem and madefrommemoriesff.
> 
> Our story is just getting started! In Chapter 8, we’re back to Katniss, so stay tuned!


	8. Katniss

Chapter 8: Katniss

* * *

 

I wake up in the middle of the night, trembling and drenched in sweat. My clock reads sometime after 2 a.m on Monday morning. I don't think I've been screaming this time, but instead I am weeping, tears pouring down my face in a silent flood. I know that I dreamed of Prim, but I shy away from the images in my head. I don't want to remember what I saw that made these tears start to flow.

Lady noses up beside me on the bed, shoving her head under my arm with a whine. I let her cuddle up to me and close my eyes again, trying to find sleep.

It's useless. Every time I close my eyes, I see her again. There will be no more sleep to be had tonight. Thank goodness it's my day off and I don't have to work today. I don't know if I could tolerate the bar patrons on this little rest.

Lady follows me out of the bedroom and downstairs to the kitchen, where I proceed to pull everything out of the fridge and scrub it from top to bottom. Then I scour our iron pans, and polish the glasses to shining. By the time the sun comes up, the kitchen is sparkling and there's toast on the table. Mom comes down out of her bedroom of her own accord so she must be having a good day, and we eat breakfast together, with me anxiously watching the hands of the clock tick by.

Finally it's 8 a.m. and I snatch up the cordless phone from the counter, Peeta's business card off the fridge, and go to the living room. I curl my legs up underneath me at the end of the couch and Lady snuggles up next to me.

I feel a lurch of something akin to nerves as I dial the number on the business card. I hold the phone up to my ear, and it only has time to ring once before he picks up.

"Detective Mellark," he says, his voice professional.

My stomach does a weird little flip flop. "Hi, it's Katniss."

"Katniss, good morning!" His voice changes, and I can tell he's smiling. "How are you?"

_Terrible_. "Um, fine thanks," I lie. "How about you?"

"Not great, if I'm honest. I tossed and turned all night."

"Oh. Um. I'm sorry to hear that." It's weird that we both slept badly on the same night. I wonder what was keeping him up.

"Don't worry, I'll be okay," he assures me. "So did you have a good weekend?"

I shrug automatically, even though he can't see me. "The same as always. I was at work for most of it."

We lapse into an uncomfortable silence. I scramble for some topic of conversation, not wanting to sound boring, before I remember that I'm supposed to be finding out about Prim's case, not having an awkward, post-first date phone call. Which - I remind myself - this isn't, because our meeting was most certainly NOT a date.

"Any news on the case?" I ask awkwardly.

"Well, unfortunately there haven't been any new developments, but you should know that I got the go-ahead to talk to Rory Hawthorne this week. I'm going to call him up and set up a meeting," Peeta says. "Then hopefully, depending how that interview goes, I'll get the green light to continue with my investigation."

"And then you'll get to do some of the other things you told me you wanted to do?"

"I hope so."

Silence falls again. This is where I would normally make a hasty goodbye, but to my surprise, I find that I don't want to get off the phone. It's strange; whenever I had spoken to Finnick (and especially Haymitch) on the phone on our Monday morning calls, I couldn't wait to get it over with. Now, though, I wish I had something else to ask, or something else to tell him, so that I could keep our conversation going.

"Uh... did you hear it's supposed to be nice all week?" As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I wish I could take them back. The weather?! _Really_? I could kick myself.

He laughs. "No, I didn't," he replies.

"Yeah," I say, forging on, feeling my face flame up. "Um, the paper says that it's going to be higher than the seasonal average all week." Thank god he can't see me right now. I'm so embarrassed; I probably look like a tomato.

"Well, that's nice," he says pleasantly. "Maybe the streets will be clear and I can start running outside."

My fingers find the hem of the ratty old shirt that I'm still wearing from last night, fiddling with the soft fabric. "Oh, you're a runner?"

"Yeah, I'd go stir crazy if I didn't find some way of burning off my extra energy. Besides, I have to keep fit somehow. How am I supposed to stand in the same room as Finnick if I don't stay in top shape?"

I stifle a laugh. "Yeah, he's… something."

"Are you kidding? If I swung that way, I'd be all up in that business. I'm not ashamed to say it."

Laughter bursts from my lips and Lady looks up at me, startled out of her half sleep. It is true that Finnick is extremely attractive, but I've never felt that way about him. More like someone appreciating a nice landscape or skillful painting. Besides, Finnick is married, and even if he wasn't, I don't have time for men.

Suddenly I hear the muffled sounds of Haymitch's gruff voice in the room with Peeta. "Are you going to sit on the phone and flirt all day, or are you going to get some work done?" I think I hear him snarl. If possible, I feel my flush deepen.

Peeta comes back on again. "Sorry Katniss, I've got to go. The boss just walked in."

"Um, okay," I answer. I don't know why, but I'm disappointed.

"Have a good day," he says formally. Haymitch must still be there.

"Uh, yeah. You too," I reply, and I hear the receiver click down on Peeta's end. I press the talk button on the cordless phone and disconnect, too.

That was probably the longest conversation I've had with anyone on the phone, ever, at least since Prim's case went cold and got pushed to the side. I have no idea what possessed me to keep the conversation going, or why I even wanted to.

I shake my head to clear it and stand up, dislodging Lady, who follows me back to the kitchen.

Mom's still sitting there, picking the crusts off her toast. "I'm going to the store today. Do you need anything?" I ask her. She looks up at me dimly as if noticing me for the first time and shakes her head.

"How about I pick up one of those frozen lasagnas and we can have that for dinner tonight?"

"That sounds nice," she says quietly, then turns silently back to her toast.

* * *

The grocery store is pretty empty at this time of the day. I'm lucky that my schedule makes it so that I can always do the errands when the checkout lines aren't filled with anxious nine-to-fivers who are just getting off work. At this time of day, I only have people like me and housewives to contend with, and those are usually far less populous, making the shopping experience just that much more enjoyable. I'll take what little enjoyment I can get; I hate grocery shopping.

It also means I have a higher likelihood of avoiding those pity stares that I hate so much.This stupid town is so tiny, and everyone knows everyone else's business and something as big as a disappearance in a town this size is impossible to _not_ know. I will never not be the girl with the missing sister, a topic of gossip, someone to be worried about. I wish I could blend into the background like I used to _before_ , and not be in the spotlight, something I've had to reluctantly get used to.

As I push the cart down the aisle, I hear a child's high pitched voice screeching unpleasantly and look up to find myself almost face to face with Annie Cresta - or I guess it's Odair, now. Her long dark hair is wild and disheveled as she hoists her son Patrick from one hip to the other, trying to get the little urchin to calm down.

Annie's not much older than me, and I've always liked her, even felt sorry for her a little bit. When Prim went missing, it was really hard on Annie, and I saw her fall apart. I don't know the exact details, but I heard that Prim's disappearance may have had something to do with her abruptly quitting her job and leaving Panem a few years back.

I'm not quite sure how to act around her anymore, but I do care about her. "Annie," I call out to her, and she looks up and sees me down the aisle from her. She smiles, balancing Patrick on one hip and her shopping basket on the other to make her way over to me.

"Hi Katniss," she says over Patrick's cries. "How are you?"

One thing I like about Annie is that she doesn't look at me as if I'm broken. Maybe because she's broken herself.

"I'm good. What's wrong with him?" I ask, eyeing the kid uncertainly.

"Oh, he wanted some candy and I told him no."

"Do you need help?" I hold out my hands to take her basket and she inexplicably hands me Patrick instead while she rearranges the items in her basket. I hold him awkwardly in front of me, bracing for the screams, but he shuts up immediately.

"Pretty," he says, I assume to me, and starts playing with my braid. I wince as he gives a particularly hard tug.

I'm not quite sure what to do with him. He looks up at me with gigantic sea green eyes that look like they were transplanted right out of his father's face. He's going to be a damn attractive guy when he grows up, with those genes. Maybe even more attractive than his dad, with the combination of his mom's soft features added into the mix.

He grins at me and I let loose an involuntary laugh. Oh dear god. Charming already, too. Like the world needs another Odair with that kind of charisma on the loose.

"He likes you," Annie says softly.

I look up at her, startled. "Really?" I ask. I haven't really been around kids since Posy got too old to be considered one.

She nods, smiling softly. "You'll be a great mom one day."

I feel the bottom drop out of my stomach. I learned how to be a parent when Dad died. It was a tough education, one I wish I'd never had to earn.

I shake my head, avoiding her eyes. "I don't think I'm ever going to be a mother. I don't have the time or money to have a family, anyway."

"Well, maybe one day," she says gently, and eases Patrick out of my arms. "I haven't seen you for a while. How's your mom?"

I shrug. "The same as always."

"I miss you," she says softly. "I miss spending Friday nights eating pizza and watching movies with you and - " she stops and her face goes white.

I can feel Prim's name hanging in the air between us. She doesn't like to talk about Prim either, not when they used to spend so much time together. Annie was Prim's favorite teacher, when she was taking classes from her. And unless I'm much mistaken, Prim was a favourite of Annie's, as well.

"Oh hey, I met Finnick's new partner the other day. He seems nice," I say, to change the subject.

She nods. "Yes, he's an old friend of Finnick's. Or rather, Finnick is friends with his older brother." She looks at me hesitantly before adding, "He said he was going to be working on your sister's case."

And we're back to that again, the thing I can never escape, the missing sister thing. "Yeah, I met with him on Thursday."

"I've got a meeting coming up with him myself," she says, looking uneasy at the prospect.

"Really?" I ask, curiously, wondering why he didn't tell me that on the phone earlier. "What about?"

She shakes her head, making her long dark hair ripple around her shoulders. "I'm not sure, but probably the same as... last time."

I find myself wanting to reassure her; she looks distressed at the thought. "Well, I'm sure it will be easy. Peeta seems really nice."

She smiles tentatively. "Well, I guess I should get this hooligan home for his nap," she says. "But don't be a stranger, Katniss. I…" she hesitates, "I worry about you, sometimes," she says.

I don't need her to be worrying about me, but with Annie, I can't bear to contradict her. With anyone else, I'd snap back at them in a heartbeat, but Annie has the kindest, gentlest heart of anyone I've ever met.

"I'm okay," I say lamely. But as she walks by, she just slides her arm through the handles of her basket to free her hand and raises it to touch my cheek softly. And then, without another word, she's gone.

* * *

"Katniss, pass me that wrench," Gale's voice drifts out from under the vehicle. His long legs are sticking out from underneath, where he lies on his back, trying to replace the starter on Dad's truck. I'm glad that we could find a time for us to work on it; it's already Wednesday and I've been without a vehicle for nearly a week now. The lack of independence is driving me crazy.

It's good that we can do this together. Gale gets the parts for cheap from his high school buddy, Thom, who works at a mechanic shop. I'd never be able to keep this old thing up if I had to pay full price for parts and labor, too. Thankfully, this time it was just the starter that needed to be changed out, which was a fairly easy fix once Thom found us the part we needed.

"Which wrench?" I mouth to Rory with wide eyes and he laughs, pulling it out of the tool box and handing it to me so I can give it to Gale.

"Thanks," he mumbles, returning to the truck. "Hey, aren't you supposed to be helping me or something? This is your truck, after all."

"We won't both fit under there," I retort.

"Excuses, excuses. Hey, how did the thing with the cop go?"

Rory looks at me with interest, and I avoid his eyes, scuffing my boot against the cement floor of the garage. "Um, it was fine, I guess. He's young for a cop - only a few years older than me, I think - but he seems pretty cool, actually. He's going to try and reopen the case, try to get to the bottom of things."

"Yeah, he called here yesterday and left a message while I was at school," Rory says bleakly. "Does he need to interview me again?"

I nod. "Yeah, he said that he'd need to, just to hear your story again and see if you have anything to add." I reach out a hand to touch Rory's arm. Prim's disappearance hit him really hard; they were so close back then.

Abruptly, Gale slides out from under the car and sits up. "Fucking cops," he says angrily. "Rory's already been through this! Why does he have to go through it all over again?"

"Why do any of us have to go through it again?" I ask him. "Peeta's - "

" _Peeta!"_ Gale says the name like an expletive. "You're on first name terms with this asshole?"

"He's not an asshole!" I shout back, angrily. "He says going to try to solve Prim's case, and I believe him, Gale!"

Gale's mouth hardens into a tight line. "Fine. Look, if he's going to reopen her case, then I'm happy." He glances quickly at Rory and away again. "We all want her to be found and for this to finally be over and done with. But why does he have to talk to Rory again?"

I sigh, frustrated. "He's talking to everyone. He's new in town, and he just wants to be thorough. Rory knew her really well; it only makes sense that Peeta would interview him too."

Gale makes a grunt of assent. "Well you can tell him that I'm going to be there when he talks to Rory, and I just hope he's got his head out of his ass. Unlike the rest of the cops in this stupid town. And if not, there'll be hell to pay."

"I don't need you there, man," Rory interjects. "I'm sure it'll be fine."

"Oh you can bet your ass I'm going to be here," Gale grumbles. "And you - " he jabs a finger at his brother, " - don't get a say in the matter."

Rory holds up his hands in surrender and turns away. He shoots me a look that Gale can't see and I have to stifle a laugh.

"Why are you defending him, anyway?" Gale asks, whirling back to face me. "I would've thought you'd be pissed too."

"I'm not defending him," I retort. "He just... seems different than the rest."

Gale scans my face and I feel the heat rise in my cheeks under his scrutiny. Slowly his scowls transforms into a gleeful expression, almost bordering on devious. "Oh my fucking god, Katniss.You like him!"

I shake my head vigorously. "No I don't!"

"I don't believe it! You do! You like him!"

"Fuck off, Gale, I do not." I turn my eyes on Rory, who shrinks back. "Can you believe this guy?"

Rory shakes his head, holding up both hands. "I'm not getting involved."

Finally Gale stops guffawing like a moron. "Sorry Catnip," he says, still grinning. "But you know, it wouldn't kill you to let yourself fall for someone for once."

"I'm not falling for him. Let it go. I just think he'll do a good job on Prim's case."

Gale shakes his head. "Fine, whatever you say. I hope for your sake that you're right about the case, and I hope for both of our sakes that _I'm_ right. Getting laid would sure lighten you up." He laughs, dodging the punch I throw his way.

The door of the garage opens and Gale's mom Hazelle appears in the light that pours in from the house. "What's going on out here?"

"Nothing," I say hurriedly, my blush deepening. "Gale was just horsing around." I direct a warning glance in his direction. _Don't say it, don't even think it._ Mercifully, he keeps quiet.

Hazelle eyes the three of us suspiciously. "Alright, you were just making a lot of noise, is all. Dinner's ready, so go wash up and come sit at the table with the family."

"Great timing," Gale answers, rubbing his dirty hands off on an old rag. "I just finished; she should be good to go, Catnip."

"Thanks Gale."

Gale, Rory and I shuffle into the house and squeeze in around the sink to wash our hands elbow to elbow. The boys are both so much taller than me; Rory is a slightly slimmer built, longer faced copy of his brother. I fit right in here with my dark brown hair and grey eyes that match all of the Hawthorne kids'. Any outsider would assume that these two men on either side of me were my brothers, or at the very least, my cousins, and they'd almost be right. The Hawthorne's are the only family I have. Hazelle is more of a mother to me than my own, and more than that, she has been my friend.

Posy is helping her mom set the table, and the petite pre-teen gives me a big hug when we join them in the kitchen. "Katniss, I missed you!" she cries joyfully, her little arms circling my ribcage. She's got taller genes than I do; before long, she'll be taller than me. She's only twelve, but she's already taller than Prim ever was.

"Hi Posy-bear. I missed you, too." I plant a kiss on the top of her head, seeing Gale watching me from the corner of my eye.

"Sit by me!" she says eagerly and I have to laugh, letting her pull me over to my seat. Gale sits on my other side, and Rory takes the seat beside his mother. Finally, gangly, pimply Vick slides into the kitchen. Poor kid, the youngest of Gale's brothers, is right in the worst part of puberty, and hasn't yet crossed over the threshold into being graceful and handsome like Gale and Rory. "Hey Katniss," he mumbles, slumping into the last empty chair.

"Hey Vick."

"Alright, now that we're all seated, eat up!" Hazelle gestures to the food in front of us and the boys dig in with gusto. Normally she would make them wait until their guests were served, brandishing a plastic spatula like a sword, but it's been years since I was considered a guest in this house.

Hazelle has prepared a shepherd's pie, and it's delicious. I don't often get to eat proper, tasty meals, since the only things I get to eat are the things I take the time to prepare myself. I've always got so many things going on that I don't have time to plan real meals, and even if I did, most of it would go to waste since it's just my mom and me. If I'm being honest, she wouldn't appreciate the effort anyway. It's nice sitting around the table with the Hawthornes, listening to the idle chatter that is absent from my own home. Nice, but at the same time unbearable, when I look back to a time when my real family was whole.

After I'm finished, I help Hazelle with the dishes while Rory and Gale go back out to the garage to test the truck to make sure it works and to clean up. I hear the familiar rumble coming through the garage door and can't help but breathe a sigh of relief. I've been bumming rides off of Cinna, but I hate owing people, so I'll be glad to have my autonomy back.

"You'll take some food home for your mom?" Hazelle asks me, but its more of a statement than a question.

"Sure, thank you."

She hands me a soapy plate, which I dunk in the rinse water and then start drying with the tea towel in my hand. "Anytime, Katniss. You know you and your mom are welcome here whenever you want."

I nod. "I know. Thank you."

"You should think about letting me take care of your mom a few nights a week," she muses.

I shoot her a confused glance as I reach to take the next plate from her. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you can't always be running home to her all the time, and it would be nice if you could go out and not have to worry about if she's eating. I could go over, cook dinner, eat with her. Posy can come, too, if she's done her homework."

I shake my head. When Mom first stopped taking care of herself, I looked into in-home care, but it was too expensive. "I can't afford that, Hazelle. It wouldn't be right for me to take that from you and not pay you."

Hazelle pulls the plug from the drain and turns to face me. She dries her hands on my towel and places one hand on each of my shoulders, looking straight into my eyes. "Katniss, you need to get out. You need to have a life. Go to the movies with Gale, take Posy shopping, go on a few dates." I grimace, which she ignores. "You are too young and too special to throw your life away like this."

She moves her hands and pulls the sprayer head out of the sink, rinsing away the soap that's been left behind. "Besides," she says, "your mom and I used to be friends once, and I've been missing that. It might do us both some good to spend time with another woman our own age. I need a chance to get away from all these boys, anyway."

I still don't like it and I don't like the feeling that I would be owing her so much. I decide on a compromise. "Fine," I say, "but I'm helping out around your house whenever I can. I know these boys aren't much for house cleaning or chores."

She smiles. "Deal."

Gale comes back in with Rory close on his heels. "Your truck's all ready to go," he says, tossing the keys to me, which I just manage to catch before they fall.

"Thanks Gale. You too, Rory."

"No problem."

I glance at Dad's watch. "Well, I guess I better be getting home and get Mom her food." Hazelle hands me the leftovers which she's already packaged up for me in a nice container.

"I'll walk you out," Gale says.

He follows me back to the garage. "Hey, seeing you with Posy today reminded me that I wanted to ask you something."

I sigh. "Is this about skiing again? Because I already told you I can't afford - "

He interrupts me with a wave of his hand. "No, it's not about that, even though I still wish you'd come with us sometime. No, I wanted to ask you about Prim's bike."

I feel my stomach twist. "What about her bike?" I ask, opening the door to the truck to get in.

"I was wondering if you would consider giving it to Posy, when the snow melts."

Instantly, anger boils up inside me, my hand clenching on the door handle. "No. No way, Gale."

He looks genuinely confused. "What? Why not? It's just sitting there in your basement gathering cobwebs. And Posy could really use a new one."

"Because, Gale, it's Prim's," I protest, angrily.

"Katniss, Prim is gone," he says, his voice getting louder. "She's not coming back, and even if by some miracle she did, it would be too small for her now."

I shake my head furiously, my braid whipping from side to side with the motion. I know Prim's gone and I know she's probably dead, but that's not the point. "No. It's Prim's and it's not going anywhere."

Gale whirls away from me, his fists clenching at his sides. After a moment, he turns back. A muscle jumps in his jaw as he glares at me.

"You know, Katniss," he says, fighting to keep his voice even. "I've been really considerate of your feelings since Prim disappeared. For six years, I have let you do whatever you wanted, let you mope around, feeling sorry for yourself. But I'm fucking sick of it. I'm not going to do it anymore."

I slam the truck door and step angrily towards him. " _Mope around?!"_ I scream up into his face. "You call mourning my missing sister _moping around_? I think I've got a pretty fucking good reason to be upset!"

"No one's disputing that, Katniss. But she's been gone a long time," Gale shouts, throwing up his hands in frustration. "Six years she's been gone and you haven't even moved her diary from under her pillow. You haven't packed her stuff into boxes. You haven't put her bike away, or given it to someone who could use it, or sold it for some extra cash, even though you can barely afford to scrape by! I don't see why you can't let Posy have it. She's your family, too, you know!"

I shake my head furiously. "It's not the same. Prim was my real sister!" Angry tears spring to my eyes.

Gale takes a step backward and looks at me like I'm just hit him with a baseball bat. His mouth makes a thin line as he fights back whatever angry retort he's got in mind. "Yes, Prim was your real sister," he says slowly, fighting to keep control of his anger, "but we're your family, too, and _your sister_ wouldn't want you to waste your life this way."

I blink furiously, digging my nails into my palms to keep the tears from spilling over. Without another word, I stride over to the truck and yank the door open again, throwing myself inside and turning the key in the ignition.

"Open the fucking garage door or I'm going through it!" I shout at him through the windshield. His eyes not leaving mine, he lashes out with one of his big hands to punch the opener beside him. The door powers slowly upward, and I wait just long enough for it to clear the cab of the truck before gunning it in reverse down the driveway and into the night.

My tears finally get the best of me once I'm out of his sight. Despite my best efforts to stay calm, sobs start to wrack my chest. Soon I can barely breathe and I certainly can't see the road, my eyes obscured with angry tears.

I pull over to the curb, slamming the gear shifter into park before collapsing angrily against the steering wheel.

_Fucking Gale._ Where does he think he gets the right to tell me what I can and can't do with Prim's things? He doesn't understand, he can't possibly understand. He has three siblings, all alive and well, and he could never in a million years understand the overwhelming despair I feel without Prim, without knowing where she is.

How the fuck am I supposed to move on? My sister is lost and most likely dead, cold and buried. Her things - her bedroom and her diary and her music, exactly as she left it that day - are all that I have left of her and I can't bear to even think of parting with them. I can't touch them, or move them, or give them away. I can barely stand to go into her room to clean.

I try so hard not to let this emptiness get the best of me, but missing her never goes away. Hunched over the steering wheel, I let myself cry, and slowly, my breathing returns to normal. I wipe my eyes on my scarf and take two deep, steadying breaths.

Suddenly, someone raps against my window and I jump. My heart hammers against my ribcage, and I look up to see probably one of the last people I would have expected - Peeta Mellark.

What is he doing here? Sniffling, trying to hide my tears from him, I reach over and painstakingly roll down the window. The crank is stiff, but eventually I get it down and the cool night air rushes in.

He's wearing light winter running gear: a tight, long sleeved shirt with the Under Armour logo in the center of his chest, and a pair of light sweat pants. He's got a knitted hat pulled down over his ears to protect against the wind, with bits of his wavy blonde hair peeking out from underneath. Through the fabric of his shirt, I can see the curve of his biceps; he's really well muscled, something that wasn't visible through his suits on all the other occasions that I've seen him. His waist is impossibly narrow. Nope, his self-professed love of pastries certainly hasn't had any ill effect on his physique.

"What are you doing here?" I ask him, hoping my voice sounds normal.

He looks down at himself and his strange outfit. "I would've thought that was obvious," he says jokingly.

_Oh_. "Uh, yeah, I guess it is," I answer, feeling stupid. "Do you live around here?"

He grins and cocks an eyebrow at me. "Is there such a thing as _not_ 'around here' in this tiny little town?"

"You know what I mean," I say with a scowl.

He laughs. "Yeah, sorry. I live on Merchant Avenue."

Okay, that's not too far from here, but it still seems a little strange that he would run this way. Seam Street is an older neighborhood, and if he wanted scenery, the houses on Capitol Drive would have made a much prettier backdrop. Was he hoping to run into me? The thought would normally freak me out, but to my surprise I feel a pleasant leap in my stomach at the thought of him going out of his way to try to see me.

I hope he didn't see my breakdown a few moments before. "How long were you watching me?"

"Not long," he assures me. "I just happened to look in the window as I was passing and saw that it was you. You're parked in kind of a strange place; is everything okay?"

"I'm fine," I snap. "Are you going to arrest me or something?"

He laughs again. "No, nothing like that. But I _am_ glad I ran into you. I wanted to ask if I could come talk to your mom."

I blink, confused. _My mom?_ "Why? She's not really... herself. Ever since Prim disappeared."

He nods. "It's okay, but I do need to speak with her, or at least try. And then I can maybe take a look through Prim's stuff and see if there's anything important there?"

I guess it makes sense that he would need to talk to Mom. It's probably going to be fairly useless, considering she maybe says ten words to me in a day, even if we're both home the whole time, but he's welcome to try. I'm less than excited about the idea of him going through Prim's stuff but I guess it's necessary. And like I'd said to Gale without thinking during our argument, I don't know why, but I really do trust him.

"Okay."

He smiles at me, and suddenly I can't help but notice just how close he is. He's leaning his forearms against my door and our faces are only a few inches away from each other. My eyes dart down to his mouth and then back up to his eyes.

I realize he's said something to me. "What?" I ask, feeling a flush rise in my cheeks.

He fights a smile. "I said, when is your next weekday off?"

"Next Wednesday," I answer. "A week from today."

"Okay, I'll come over then, around 1 p.m. again?"

I nod. "Um, sure. that works, I guess."

"Great. And I'll be interviewing Rory Hawthorne this Friday, like I said on the phone the other day."

My anger flares up again at the mention of Rory. "Good luck dealing with his asshole brother," I retort without thinking.

"I thought you were friends with that whole family," he says, his brow furrowing. "Didn't you say Gale was your friend?"

I shrug. "I guess you could call him that," I answer begrudgingly. _If I forgive him for what he said to me today._

His face falls slightly but I don't have the faintest idea why. Just as quickly as it came, the expression is gone. I can't be sure it was even really there.

"Um, I better get home," I say, gesturing towards the passenger seat. "I have my mom's dinner in here."

"Oh yeah, I'll let you go." He pushes himself away from the door, taking a step away from the truck. "It was nice running into you," he says with a smile. "When are you working next?"

"Tomorrow," I answer, starting the painstaking process of winding up my window.

His grin widens. "Well, maybe I'll see you there."

I nod as I finish rolling up the window, and hold up a hand to him in farewell as I pull away from the curb. Watching him in my rearview mirror, I see him move back to the sidewalk and continue on his run, his legs and arms pumping rhythmically as he moves.

And it isn't until I pull back into the driveway in front of my house that I realize that I had almost forgotten all about my fight with Gale, and that I've got a huge smile plastered across my face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to our beta sunfishdunes and pre-readers jennagill and desertginger, as well as each and every single one of you for reading and commenting. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and if I could give you all a kiss, I would!
> 
> Next chapter, we’ll hear from that new cop that Katniss absolutely does not have a crush on, thank-you-very-much, so stay tuned! We’re on tumblr, so come drop us a line; I’m madefrommemoriesff, and my genius co-conspirators are soamazinghere and loveforpanem.


	9. Peeta

Chapter 9

Today is the big day.

Well, "big day" may be stretching it a bit, but I did actually get the go-ahead from Haymitch to officially reopen Prim's case and start the questioning of more people. He liked how my interview with Katniss went, and gave me the green light to proceed. Unfortunately, this will not be the kind of interrogation I always envisioned when I would daydream of my future career. Before, I always thought I'd be breaking down some hardened criminal, getting confessions left and right, and maybe even make a few of them so sorry for what they did, they'd just repent all of their sins and find Jesus right then.

But instead of my daydreams, I find myself talking to a college kid who was eliminated as a suspect six years ago. This is more like what I have come to understand detective work to really be like. I received a call from Rory Hawthorne yesterday. I had called his home earlier in the week, requesting to meet him somewhere to ask a few questions about the Primrose Everdeen case. Nothing formal, as we don't see him as a suspect, or even a person of interest. Really, what I wanted to find out was what Prim was like from a person who wasn't her sister. Not that I wouldn't mind talking to her sister again, but that's beside the point.

Yesterday, right before I left the station for the evening, Rory called and said he would agree to meet with me today. I was even more surprised when he requested to do it at the station. Most people are a little intimidated by the formality here and usually prefer someplace neutral like a coffee shop or their home. But he said that he wanted to keep it official, and that he had nothing to hide. I can respect that, and it makes things easier for me.

He also said that his brother Gale would be joining him. I'm not sure why Rory's brother would need to be there, but if the moral support helps him, then who am I to say no when he is doing this for me, just to help the case?

It's already getting late on this Friday afternoon, but he said his last class was at two o'clock and he was driving in from Pittsburgh. Which gives me just enough time to let my mind wander to where it usually does lately: Katniss.

I know I should let it go, but I just keep replaying every conversation she and I have ever had, over and over in my head. My first interview with her, her phone call last Monday, accidentally running into her on Seam Street while I was jogging (okay, that one may have been intentional). Hell, I even think about that time she tried to attack me. How messed up is that?

I need to cool it. And I keep reminding myself that I need to keep this strictly professional, but dammit, those grey eyes have me hooked. Everytime I look at her and see her stone-like facade, her eyes give her away and I can see the million different little things running through her mind. She's hard to read, but I can tell there's more than what she's letting on, and sometimes they they reveal more than she ever intended. Like, the other day when I saw her in her car, I could have sworn I saw her staring at my mouth while I was talking. At least, I hope she was. And I hope she didn't notice me staring at hers.

Just as I'm about to let my thoughts lead to less innocent images of Katniss, the elevator doors open and I see two very tall, very handsome, dark haired men walk out. It's obvious they're brothers, but with their hair, skin tone, and eye color, they look like they could be Katniss's family, too.

I walk over to them, make eye contact with the younger of the two, and extend my hand to greet him. "Hi, you must be Rory Hawthorne. I'm Detective Mellark, it's nice to finally meet you."

After shaking his hand, I turn to the older one and do the same, "You're Gale, right?"

He takes my hand and grips it a little harder than I was expecting. When he finally lets go, I hide my hand while flexing my fingers to make sure nothing is broken, and I point them in the direction of the interrogation room.

I conjure up my most professional voice, "I'd like to thank you for coming in today. I know that you both have been through this several times before and under different circumstances, but today is just strictly for information purposes only. No one is being accused of anything, and if at any time you don't feel comfortable answering anymore questions, you are free to go."

"Also, I must disclose that this conversation is being recorded. Since you requested to be questioned here, the only available area to talk is the interrogation room, and it's under surveillance at all times."

Rory speaks for the first time, "That's fine. I told you, I have nothing to hide."

He turns away from me and walks into the room and sits in the suspect's chair. It kind of pains me that this nice young man knows better than I do how this process goes.

I turn to Gale, hoping he takes the hint that he's not following us in, "There's coffee in the small kitchen right over there and there are some chairs in the hallway where you can wait. Feel free to make yourself comfortable."

I turn to walk in the room with Rory, when I feel a hand on my arm and Gale pulling me back into the hallway. His eyes meet mine, and for a moment I'm not sure what's going on, "Was there something else you needed?" I ask him. I'm sure the look on my face lets him know I want an answer.

He drops his hand from my arm and clears his throat. "Yeah, look, I just want to remind you what a delicate situation you're working with here. Rory was so young when this happened. He's already been through so much, we all have, especially Katniss. We all lost someone special that day. Just remember, you're working with a lot of hurt people and the little girl who's dead." He grits his teeth and corrects himself when he continues, "The little girl who went missing. She's a person and not just something to help your career. You got it?"

I could tell by his tone, this wasn't really a question but a threat. I clench my jaw tightly. I'm annoyed that he automatically accused me of just trying to advance my career, but I realize he's hurting. They're all hurting. This case has gone unsolved for almost years and everyone wants answers. I hold his gaze for a long moment before replying calmly but firmly, "I got it." He looks at me briefly before nodding curtly and turning towards the kitchen.

I wait until I see him pouring himself a cup of coffee and walk into the interrogation room with Rory. I place my file on the table and pull a pen out of my pocket before sitting down across from him. Unlike Rory, this is my first time sitting at the small, bolted down, stainless steel table. I've only ever glanced at this room before. The walls are covered in a textured grey foam both for acoustics and so that suspects can't hurt themselves in here. I can see why some people find this room intimidating, but Rory looks completely at ease. His hands are folded in front of him and his posture is relaxed. It settles me somewhat and I open my file and take out the legal pad I keep in there. I look up at the camera in the corner of the room, take a deep breath, and prepare myself mentally to start.

I smile and start his questioning. "So Rory, I just wanted to start by thanking you again for taking the time to come in here today. Also, I need to repeat that you are being recorded and that you can leave at anytime. You are under no legal obligation to be here. Could you confirm that you understand?"

Rory shifts in his seat, sitting up a little straighter. "Yes, I understand, and I don't mind coming in here today."

"Great, this shouldn't take long. So, currently, you're going to the University of Pittsburgh, is that right?"

"Yes, I'm majoring in mechanical engineering."

"That sounds pretty demanding and expensive."

"Thanks, it's taken a lot of work to get to where I am. I'm there on scholarships. My family couldn't really afford it otherwise. Gale had to do the same."

"Your brother is an engineer, too?"

"He's an environmental engineer. It's different, but still an expensive program."

"You guys sound like you're from a very smart and driven family. That's pretty impressive. Do you think Prim would have gone to college?"

I can see he's a little taken back by my question, but again, I'm just trying to get a feel for who she was, maybe it will lead me somewhere. "I do. She was always helping animals. I think she would have made a good veterinarian. She could have been a doctor if she wanted. She was so smart." He smiles, "I remember one time, when we were in elementary school together, there was a kid that got a skinned knee on the playground and she begged the teacher to let her put on the band-aid. She was never scared of blood. She wasn't like the other girls, she was special."

I make notes on my legal pad about her helping animals. Could someone have lured her away from the center by saying they needed help? It happens all of the time. I continue with my questioning.

"So, you two went school together, is that how your families know each other so well? It seems like the Everdeens and Hawthornes are very close."

"Our families go back further than that. Our dads worked together at the coal mine; they were in the same accident."

My own curiosity gets the better of me. "What happened, if you don't mind my asking?"

"I don't mind, that's what I'm here for, isn't it?" He asks, giving a weak smile. "We think that they got into an area saturated in Methane, and the whole thing went up. The company they worked for was notorious for faulty equipment and their sensors probably didn't go off. But, when our families went to court to fight them and tried to get settlements, they won and we didn't get a penny. They even said it was the miners' faults. It left all the families with nothing. It made Gale and Katniss grow up really quick. Both our moms were completely devastated. My mom was pregnant with my little sister Posy and Mrs. Everdeen just spaced out. Katniss practically raised Prim and Gale kind of stepped in as our dad. We all looked out for each other, though."

"I'm so sorry for your loss." I pause for a moment before moving on. "So, you and Prim were always close, being the same age and both in this situation?"

"I wouldn't say we were always close. We were little when it happened. I'm sure when we were younger, one or the other had a case of the cooties. Plus, I don't think she and I were as close and Katniss and Gale were. Well, are, really."

For some reason my stomach drops. I know that right now is absolutely not the appropriate time to ask, but dammit, I have him here, so I'm going for it. "So, Katniss and Gale used to date, or are dating now?"

Suddenly, the quiet room is filled with the loud bark Rory's laughter. Startled, I look on with wide eyes waiting for him to finish.

"I'm sorry," he tells me while wiping a small tear from his eye, "if you saw them together, you would know just how funny that is. I think Gale tried to kiss her once when they were in high school, but that did not go over well. I'm pretty sure she punched him in the balls for doing it."

I let out a chuckle of relief. I don't think I'm unattractive, but from what I just saw, Gale looks like he might be a tough act to follow. Wait, what the fuck am I thinking about? I can't keep thinking about Katniss like this. I shouldn't be concerned with who she's dating, I need to focus on questioning Rory. Get it together, Mellark.

"Okay, forget I asked. But let's go back to you and Prim. You two were dating at the time of her disappearance, right?"

He shakes his head, "No, we weren't. The cops thought we were, but I hadn't gotten up the nerve to ask it yet. In fact, that last phone conversation we had, the one the day she disappeared, I was going to ask her out. I was just too nervous. I chickened out. And now, I'll never know if she was going to say yes or no. I'll never stop regretting that." He looks down at his hands that are now in his lap. "She was my first love."

I cringe at my follow-up question, "I'm sorry... I have to ask, but before that, had you ever tried anything with her?"

He raises his head and looks at me like he's disgusted by my question. I feel disgusting for even asking it. "What, you mean like sexually? I was 14 years old, I was too nervous to even hold her hand, let alone kiss her or do anything else. Everything between us was very innocent. We were just kids."

I make a few more notes and change the subject, "What about friends? Was she popular in school? Did she keep to herself?"

"Oh, everyone loved her. She had a couple of girlfriends that she hung out with, but it's hard to remember their names, it was so long ago." He scratches his head and rests both hands on top of his head. I'm glad to see he is more relaxed, again. "I think there was an Amanda and Becca she used to talk to, but I'm sorry, I didn't have any classes with them so I don't really remember much about them. But really, she didn't have too much time outside of school for anyone. She and Katniss were so close; I know she just looked forward to going home and seeing her sister everyday. I've never seen two sisters who were as close as those two were. They snipped and fought with each other like other siblings, but they both just loved each other so much and were so appreciative to have each other, I don't think they ever stayed mad at each other for very long." He chuckles, "It was much different at our house. Don't get me wrong, we all love each other, but my brothers and I would fight like cats and dogs. We'd wrestle and throw punches. I feel bad for Posy having to grow up with us."

I chuckle too, "I'm pretty sure that's how all brothers are. I have two brothers, too. I'm pretty sure we've all given each other a black eye at some point. And all three of us were on the wrestling team in high school. I'm not really sure how we had any furniture in our house with the three of us going at each other."

Rory smiles at me. I hope I've earned his trust today.

After making a few last notes, I place my notepad in my folder and set it to the side. "Well, Rory, that's pretty much all I had for you. Is there anything else you want to add or feel like might help the case? Is there anyone you suspect?"

"No, I can't think of anyone that could have done that to Prim. I wouldn't even know where to start. But, there is something that has always bothered me."

Leaning forward, I give him my full attention. "And what's that?"

"No offense, but I never thought the cops did enough for her. I always felt like they could be doing more, but they just kind of dropped the ball. I know that there were searches, but those were led by the community, not the cops."

He runs his hand through his hair. It seems like he's fighting back years of frustration, "It's like they knew there was something more to this, but they would avoid it and waste their time on other suspects, like me. There were literally 30 people that could vouch for my whereabouts the day of her disappearance. I was at soccer practice. People were watching me play, and they kept coming back to me. It made no sense. Gale was even considered a suspect at one point, but he was at his job during break from college and there were video cameras. I don't think Haymitch is a bad detective, but I just always had a bad feeling about all of this. But, I'm glad you're doing this. She deserves to have someone look into this again."

He stands and holds his hand out to me. I take it and shake his hand in parting. "You know, I think Katniss is right about trusting you. Just, for everyone's sake, don't let her down."

* * *

A few days after my interview with Rory, I started making a list of the other people I felt that I should talk to. I tracked down the Amanda and Becca that Prim was friends with, but nothing really came of it. I also had the chance to speak with a few of Prim's teachers, including Annie, which is actually why I'm walking over to Finnick's office now.

I lightly tap on the door frame before walking in. "Hey man, you got a second?"

Finnick glances up at me for a moment before turning his attention back to his computer screen and never stops typing. "Yeah, have a seat. Let me just finish this. It'll be quick." The phone's also ringing, but he never makes a move to answer it, so I let it go.

I look around his office while patiently waiting for him. The only things on his wall are his degree in criminal justice from Pitt and a family portrait of him, Annie, and Patrick on the beach. They are all dressed in white and khaki, and if one of the people in the picture wasn't sitting in front of me, I would have thought it was just the picture that came in the frame or a Ralph Lauren ad.

The typing has finally ceased and I see Finnick out of the corner of my eye and face him when I notice he is looking at me. "Kinda cheesy, right? We took it last summer when we went on vacation. We spent a week on the beach. I would move to the coast in a heartbeat if it weren't for our families being up here. I think it would be good for Annie, too. She always seems more at peace by the ocean."

We sit silently for a moment looking at the picture, and for me, it starts to become uncomfortable. Then I remember the real reason I came in his office to begin with. "Speaking of Annie, how is she? She seemed to handle the questioning okay the other day. It hasn't bothered her since then, has it?"

His head is resting in his hand and he's still staring at the picture. "We're getting a boat when I retire and Annie and I are setting sail. Maybe start out in the Keys or Bahamas or something."

"That's great, really. But how is Annie now?"

"Huh? Oh, she's fine. Actually, she's doing a lot better than I thought she would be. Maybe talking about it helped her." He straightens up at his desk. "Was that all you wanted to know? I'm actually pretty busy today."

"No, I wanted to talk to you about my interview with Mrs. Everdeen this afternoon. I'm not exactly sure which way to go on this. Mostly, I know we're just going to get some background information on Prim, but I also saw that it was mentioned she was dating someone named Mitchell at the time. No one ever talked to him. He had a pretty solid alibi since he was on camera working his shift at the pharmacy with Ms. Everdeen, but I thought it might be worth asking."

Finnick shrugs his shoulder, "You can ask her about it, but it's not going to do much good. Mitch died a couple of years ago from a heart attack. He was was a good guy. No one thought he had anything to do with Prim's disappearance. I don't think Katniss and Prim's mom dated him for very long, either. She was barely a person when she was dating him, and after Prim was gone, she went back to zoning out. It's weird seeing her work; like she'll talk to you, but she has these weird dead eyes that just look through you, like you aren't there. She kind of freaks me out, so glad you're talking to her and not me."

"Thanks for the infomation, I guess. But where do you think I should go with this?"

He's just about to answer me when we hear Haymitch buzz in on the intercom system on Finnick's desk phone. "Odair, get your ass in my office, I want to talk to you. Bring the boy in with you."

Finnick and I both give each other the same confused look and make our way to Haymitch's office.

"Close the door behind you and have a seat." Haymitch grumbles as he slams his bottom desk drawer closed. It's no secret that's where he keeps his stash of liquor. It must be whisky today - the stench of alcohol is strong in the room and on his breath. It never stops making Finnick and me mad. I can see the look on his face showing the same disapproval I have. But we both take our seats and wait for the old man to speak.

"Just got a call from Darius over in Wheeling about a girl they found murdered in his area. Her name was Madge Undersee, she's a politician's daughter. He's going to email over her picture in just a little bit. We may need to canvass at some point."

I'm sitting at the edge of my seat and practically bursting at the seams. I've been included in information on an active case, which has never happened before. I take this as a subtle hint that Haymitch is trusting me more as a detective. I look over at Finnick, trying to keep my excitement under control, and he looks particularly uninterested in any of the news.

Finnick's pretty flippant when he speaks. "What does this have to do with us? Why are they crossing state lines from West Virginia to Pennsylvania? Do they think it's someone in our area? Was she seen here?"

"I'm getting to that, calm the fuck down Odair." I can see the glassiness in Haymitch's eyes; whatever Darius had to tell him must have bothered him. He's hit the bottle a little harder than usual today. "What I was going to tell you is that while Darius was working the case, he got an anonymous tip saying there was a brand new black Range Rover swerving and driving erratically near the suspected murder site. The SUV had a Pennsylvania plate and they got enough of the numbers to track it to Coriolanus Snow. It's all circumstantial right now, but it's enough for them to bring him in for questioning. But, of course, Snow being the piece of shit lawyer he is, gets to come in whenever he feels like it. They don't even get to talk to him for another week. So, while they're waiting for him to be questioned, Darius asked us to keep an eye on him and to watch to see if he does anything suspicious."

Haymitch and Finnick share a pointed look; I'm so tired of them having these little internal conversations and keeping me out of them. "What? Do you two know this guy or something?"

Finnick sighs, "Yeah, Snow is a retired lawyer. He was one of those who could find the smallest loophole in a case, the smallest piece of doubt, and get someone off with no charges. If you had the money to pay him, you weren't going to jail. There was this one case he had, where the guy was obviously guilty, but he somehow got his case cleared and that motherfucker Snow even got the victim's family to apologize for accusing his client." He reclines back in his chair and releases an uncomfortable chuckle. "It was beyond fucked up and he was a police officer's worst nightmare. You prayed you followed every single protocol, because if you didn't, Snow would somehow find out. Even if they do somehow link Snow to this girl's murder, nothing will happen to him. Not while Crane is here. Almost everyone on Capitol Drive has immunity while Crane is in charge."

Haymitch gets an uncharacteristic wry grin on his face. "Speaking of Crane, word going around is that he's on his way out."

Finnick's eyes grow wide as saucers; this is the first time I've seen him excited here. "Are you serious? Those bribery charges were real?"

Haymitch nods, "Yup. Someone caught him, for something stupid, too; a speeding ticket. He thought it was so simple and he got cocky. You can't let shit like that go when you have so many people wanting you out and watching your every move. Chaff told me earlier today, he should be out by the end of this week, maybe even in jail if we're lucky. They're holding an emergency election as soon as possible."

"Is Heavensbee up for the nomination?"

"He's the frontrunner. Which would be very good news for us. He doesn't play into all of the bullshit Crane did. It's good news for you, too, kid."

My eyes dart between the two, thoroughly confused, "What are you talking about, how it this good news for me?"

"Well, when the Everdeen case was first being worked, we ran into a lot of red tape and roadblocks because of Crane. If we wanted to question anyone on Capitol Drive, we had to go through him first, and it was always refused. He's been so deep in all of this for so long, we've forgotten what it's like to actually be able to do our job." Haymitch's eyes then harden. "You can't say any of this to anyone. Especially anyone involved in the Everdeen case. I don't want to give that girl Katniss any false hope. We still have work to do on that. Also, no one is supposed to know until its been officially announced. So keep your mouth shut, you got me, kid?"

"Yes, sir," I answer solemnly.

"Good." He looks down at his watch. "Don't you have a questioning at 2 o'clock? You're going to be late. Get the hell out of here."

* * *

I pull up to the Everdeen's just a few minutes before our appointment. I sigh in relief; I can't stand being late. Luckily, Seam Street is less than three minutes away from the station and I probably could have walked here if I'd had more time. The weather is nice enough today for another run tonight.

Before I even turn off the car, Katniss is already walking outside. I grab my satchel and swing it across my chest before getting out of the car, meeting her halfway on the small sidewalk leading up to her front door. The early afternoon sunlight is making her grey eyes practically glow and it's still cool enough that her nose is a little red from the temperature. I want to tell her how beautiful she looks and it kills me that I can't. Her hair is in it's customary braid and she's just wearing a long sleeve t-shirt and jeans, but to me, she's perfect.

I let out a small puff of air and can see my breath before I speak, "Hey, is everything okay?"

She nods, putting her hands up to her mouth to warm them. "Yeah, I just wanted to talk to you before we go in."

"Sure, what's going on? Is your mom still able to do the interview?"

"Yes, but I just wanted to warn you. She's not having a good day. I had to practically drag her downstairs this morning. She's just kind of been staring off into the distance, so if she doesn't really say much, I just want to apologize in advance."

I close the space between us and place my hand on her shoulder. She shies away from the touch at first and I'm worried that it may be inappropriate. "Katniss, you don't need to apologize. I really appreciate any information I can get. If she's not able to talk today, at least we can still look at Prim's room and I can always come back if you see your mom having a better day some other time. It's not a big deal. This is just for information purposes."

"Okay. Then come on in."

While the street outside may be run down, the inside of Katniss's house is very clean and well-kept. The home is modestly furnished, and though it's easily been 20 years since anything's been updated, it smells nice in here - like pine and citrus. She points me in the direction of a small dining room table. "You can set up your stuff here, if you'd like. I'm going to go get my mom out of the living room."

I smile and start to unload my bag, getting out my legal pad and Prim's file, when suddenly, I feel the weight of two heavy paws pushing against my lower back. I'm pushed forward into the table and hear a loud bark.

"Lady! Get down!" Katniss yells from the doorway. I turn around quickly and take in a medium sized dog wagging her tail and trying to jump back up on me. Getting down on my knees, I start scratching behind her ears.

"It's no problem, I love dogs. She's not bothering me at all." I'm getting covered in kisses at this point, but really, I don't mind. I miss our old family dog, and unfortunately, I've been too busy to even think about getting a pet.

Katniss comes by and lightly tugs on Lady's collar. "Come on girl, you need to get on your bed." I watch a slightly defeated Lady walk over to her dog bed in the corner of the room. "Sorry about that, she's normally not like that with new people."

I stand up, wiping dog hair off my sweater. "Really, I meant it when I said it was okay. She must have known I like dogs." I smile at her, then turn my attention to a small, older woman, with pale skin and even paler blonde hair. She barely looks coherent and I get what Finnick was talking about when I look into her eyes. I've obviously never seen a zombie in real life, but I'm pretty sure it's similar to what I'm seeing right now.

I hold my hand out to her. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Everdeen, I'm Detective Peeta Mellark. Thank you for meeting with me."

She takes my hand and the small squeeze she gives me is barely noticeable. Her skin feels paper thin and there is a slight tremor to her touch. I help lead her to the chair across from where I plan on sitting.

Katniss brings in some water for all of us to drink and I start out with some easy questions. Does she remember what Prim was wearing that day. If she could think of any place Prim might have gone to while waiting for Katniss. I felt bad when I asked this question, immediately seeing a pained look on Katniss's face. I also asked if there was anyone that she suspected. Her answers were short and it often took a little time to get her attention or to get a response. But as we progressed, instead of becoming quieter, she actually opened up more and more, and dare I say, became a little hopeful. We even got her to laugh at a memory of Prim. I could see that Katniss was just as surprised as I was; I think we both expected her to shut down at some point.

I did ask her about Mitchell, but she insisted that he had nothing to do with it. She never even introduced him to the girls, and she wouldn't even consider what they had done as dating. They were just co-workers. But, what surprised me most was what came at the end of the interview.

Mrs. Everdeen looks at me, and for the first time today, her eyes don't seem clouded over, allowing me see her features clearly. I can see now where Katniss and Prim got their looks from. She used to be pretty at one time, before her life became unbearable. It's heartbreaking to know what all this family has been through.

"Detective Mellark, do you think that my daughter is still alive?"

A knot forms in my stomach and I can feel a burn rising up in my throat. What do I tell her? Am I honest and say that we believe her daughter has been dead for six years? Do I give her a false sense of hope and lie to her? So, I decide to go for the safe answer. "Mrs. Everdeen, with the lack of evidence this case has, I believe that anything is possible. I think we should prepare ourselves for the possibility of her being dead, but I promise you, that I will do my absolute best to find her."

The spark she had just a moment ago is gone, and her demeanor changes back to the closed off, melancholy expression she wore earlier. "Thank you so much for coming by today Detective Mellark, but if you will excuse me, I am very tired now. I'm going to go lay down."

She places a hand on Katniss's shoulder as she leaves. I'm not sure if it's a moment they are sharing, a silent understanding between two people both grieving, or simply her just trying to keep her balance while getting up. But Katniss closes her eyes and is quiet for a moment as her mother exits the room and slowly trudges her way up the creaky stairs.

I see a single tear run down Katniss's cheek, and my hand is halfway there to wipe it away before I jerk it back quickly as she opens her eyes when we hear her mother's bedroom door close.

She clears her throat, and looks away. I worry my bottom lip for a moment before asking, "Could we head upstairs to Prim's room? You said I could take a look around up there."

We're silent as we head down the hallway of the second floor and she opens up a door to a bright pink time capsule, or even worse, an overly cheery tomb. I walk through the door and see outdated posters from musicians and television shows from the year Prim disappeared. I look back and Katniss is still standing in the doorway with her arms protectively crossed in front of her. I can tell she's uncomfortable with me being in here. I walk back over to her and place my hand on her arm. This time she doesn't shy away, and I think I actually feel her lean in to the touch. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. It's just, I know you know Prim is dead."

"Katniss, we can't be sure, she could still be out there."

"Peeta, I know you don't believe that. I don't either. But, thank you for giving my mother hope. She needed that." Her lips curl into a soft smile, "I can't believe she opened up to you today. That's the most I've seen her talk in years. It was nice to have my mom back for a little while. She trusts you."

The air is heavy between us, and I look into her eyes. If this were any other situation, if we had any other reason to be here with each other, I would kiss her. I want to so badly. I fight back the urge to lean into her, to take her face in my hands and capture her lips with mine. Her lips part slightly and she gently licks her bottom lip before running her teeth over it. My strength to fight is slowly deteriorating when Lady comes into the room and jumps up on me, placing herself between Katniss and me.

The moment is gone and I'm thankful for the dog stopping me before I ruined so much of what I have worked hard to accomplish.

I can feel the heat in my cheeks and instinctively run my hand over the back of my neck then into my hair. My embarrassment must just be radiating off of me and I quickly look away from Katniss and focus my attention on Lady.

"Hey girl, did you just want to help?" I pat her head and back away slowly so she knows to get down.

I exhale deeply and continue looking around the room. I'm afraid to look Katniss in the eye now. I'm such a fool, how could I have let myself get so close?

I start to get a feel for the kind of girl Prim was. She seems to be the exact opposite of her sister. Prim's room is filled with pink, ruffles, and flowers. I can't see any of these things being up Katniss's alley. I walk by and open up a little CD player and am faced with a Jonas Brothers CD. I snort in amusement and close the lid. The room is tidy and nothing really sticks out at me, until I turn my attention to the small, neatly made bed. Sticking out from underneath a pillow is a pink, glittery journal. I pick it up and open it. It's just a young girl's diary, but it could hold some information. To be honest, I can't believe the previous officers didn't take it in as evidence.

I hold up the small book in my hand and turn to ask Katniss if it's okay that I take it. Before I can even get the question out, she yanks it out of my hand and holds it tightly to her chest. "Don't touch this."

I recoil at the firmness in her voice. "Katniss, I might need that. There could be some information in there about someone who might have taken her."

Her fire is back and the woman who just a moment before looked like she wanted to kiss me, seems to have nothing but fear and anger in her eyes when she speaks. "I said don't touch this. It's the last thing she wrote before she died. I'm not giving this up."

"Katniss, you have to let it go. What if she names her killer in there? Have you read it? Do you know for sure that there isn't anything in there?"

"It's her private diary, I would never betray her trust like that! You don't need this, just leave it alone!" Her voice is loud and trembling.

I'm just about to fire back at her when my phone rings. This could not come at worse time, but I have to take it. I hold my finger up to show that I need just a second. Finnick's name flashes on the screen. He's probably wondering what's taking me so long over here. I keep it formal so she doesn't think it's a personal call.

"Detective Mellark speaking."

On the other end, I hear a frantic Finnick. "Peeta, I need you wrap things up and come down to the hospital as soon as possible. Something has happened to Annie."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A great big ol’ thank you to our beta sunfishdunes and pre-readers desertginger and jennagill. This chapter was truly a group effort. Also, thank you to everyone that has been and continues to read, review, and rec this story. We absolutely appreciate everyone of you. 
> 
> Prim is up next, and just to let ya’ll know, I’ve already read the first draft and I’m really excited for you guys to read it! 
> 
> Come follow us on tumblr! I’m loveforpanem and the lovely ladies I write with are madefrommemoriesff and soamazinghere.


	10. Primrose

Chapter 10: Primrose

* * *

I’m not sure I should be watching this - I’ve done enough damage here already - but I can’t make myself stop. As frightened as I am about what might happen if I watch, my curiosity has gotten the better of me.

Tonight Peeta’s going to question Annie about my disappearance. Along with all the rest of my teachers, she was questioned six years ago when it happened...but that was before I appeared in her classroom. Before she had a breakdown and fled Panem.

Finnick insisted on getting Patrick out of the house during the questioning, just to be safe. I can tell he’s not happy that she agreed to talk to Peeta. All he’s been doing since he found out is trying to talk her out of it. He doesn’t want her to lose herself again, and he definitely doesn’t want Patrick to be around to see it happen.

I’ve been sitting here for awhile now, idly listening to Finnick and Annie doing everything they apparently need to do to get a four-year-old ready for an overnight trip to Grandma and Grandpa’s house. “How many pairs of underwear did you pack for him?” Annie demands, rifling through a small duffle bag sitting on Patrick’s bed.

“Um, one?” Finnick says in confusion as he and his son play with legos in the corner of the room. “He’ll be back tomorrow.”

“One?” she asks, looking up in surprise. “No, no, no. If you only pack one, he’ll end up having accidents all over Mom and Dad’s house.” Annie shakes her head as she walks to the dresser and adds three more pairs.

“Mommy, come play with us,” Patrick whines.

“In a few minutes,” Annie replies absently as she searches through a pile of stuffed animals on the floor near the bed. “Where’s his green monkey?” she mumbles quietly.

“Mommy, I want you to play with us _right now_!” Patrick yells. He knocks over the lego tower he and Finnick were building and runs to the bed, grabbing the duffle bag and emptying it onto the floor.

“Patrick!” Finnick exclaims, jumping to his feet. I can hear the patter of footsteps running down the hallway, followed by a door slamming shut. Finnick starts to follow him, but Annie stops him with a hand on his arm.

“Don’t bother. He’ll be out in a few minutes when he realizes we’re not giving him any attention.” She sighs and bends down to the floor, beginning to re-pack the overnight bag.

Finnick leans against the wall, running a hand through his hair. He looks down at his wife where she’s kneeling and refolding Patrick’s clothes for tomorrow. “Annie, you don’t have to do this, you know.”

“Yes, I do,” she responds immediately, never looking up.

“No, you _don’t_ ,” Finnick counters emphatically, crouching down next to Annie. “Peeta will still be able to work on the case, even if you - ”

Annie shakes her head vehemently. “I’m not doing this for Peeta,” she says, looking him in the eyes. “I’m doing this for _Prim_.”

“You’ve got to stop feeling like you owe something to a dead girl, Annie,” Finnick interjects angrily. “You need to stay well for your family. It’s not just you this time; now you have Patrick, too. You don’t want him to see you like...”

Annie’s head snaps up abruptly. “Like what?” she challenges.

Finnick closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “You know what happened six years ago,” he finally says quietly. He sighs and stands, pulling Annie with him.

“I can take care of myself, Finnick. I’m better now.”

“I know,” he agrees, drawing her into his chest and wrapping his arms around her. He presses a kiss onto the top of her head and murmurs, “I just worry sometimes.”

I nod my head in understanding. I’m worried too, of course - that’s why I’m here watching right now.

From the time I’ve spent watching Peeta - which seems to happen more and more often these days - I know that Finnick has talked to him about taking it easy on Annie during the questioning. I don’t think Annie knows that, and I’m not sure how she’d feel about it if she did, but I guess Finnick’s just trying to do whatever he can to protect her. Peeta, of course, readily agreed to keep the questioning as short as possible.

As my attention drifts back to the Odair’s house, I notice that everyone has moved downstairs. Finnick is helping Patrick put on his winter hat and coat, and the re-packed duffle bag sits ready by the front door. It must be almost time for Peeta to arrive.

As Finnick shrugs into his own coat, I hear him giving instructions to Annie. “You don’t have to answer any questions if you don’t want to, you know that, right?”

She crosses her arms over her chest and nods. “ _I know_.” From her slightly exasperated tone, I assume that Finnick’s been over this with her several times already.

“And you can ask Peeta to end the questioning any time, alright? If you feel like you don’t want to do it, then don’t,” he says, giving her a pleading look.

“I know,” she repeats. Annie walks to the front door and crouches down, giving Patrick one last kiss. “Have fun with Grandma and Grandpa, okay? And be a good boy for Daddy,” she finishes sternly.

Patrick wraps his little arms around her neck and squeezes. “I will, Mommy.” Annie stands, lifting Patrick along with her.

Finnick walks towards the front door to grab the duffle bag and give Annie a quick kiss on the cheek. “Promise me you’ll remember what I said?” he asks her.

She smiles reassuringly. “I will, I promise. And Finn...I know I can do this. I just - I _need_ to talk to him about Prim. Peeta’s going to help find her.”

As I look down on them from my perch by the lake, a sad smile plays across my lips. I wish I could thank Annie somehow for not giving up on me, for being willing to delve into her old memories even knowing how risky it might be. But I have to content myself with just passively watching over her...and praying that everything goes well tonight.

I see Peeta’s car drive up and park on the street in front of the Odair house. Finnick must notice it as well, because he looks out the window and gives a quick wave to Peeta before turning back to his wife.

“You’re sure you want to do this?” he asks. Annie just sighs in annoyance. “Fine, fine,” he relents, taking Patrick from her arms.

With his free hand, Finnick reaches for the door and opens it just as Peeta’s about to ring the doorbell, ushering him inside. “Come on in, Peeta. We’re just heading out.” He leans towards Annie and gives her a peck on the lips before heading to the door. “Call me when you finish,” he says to Annie as he leaves.

After closing the front door, Annie greets Peeta with a quick hug and leads him into the cluttered but comfortable living room. Peeta clears his throat nervously as he walks behind her. “I’m sorry we have to talk about...all this,” he apologizes.

She turns to him and gestures for him to sit on the couch. “Don’t be; it’s fine,” she assures Peeta as she takes a seat in a nearby armchair.

I peer closely at Annie, trying to gauge for any signs of nervousness. She really seems fine; she doesn’t appear tense or worried in the slightest. If anything, Peeta’s the one who looks unsettled as he perches on the edge of the couch and rifles quickly through my case file, dropping several pages on the floor in the process.

“Sorry about that,” he says as he reaches to the floor to grab the papers he dropped. “Just...trying to find...the notes from your last questioning,” he mumbles as he continues shuffling through the papers. Annie smiles patiently and after a few moments, Peeta locates what he was looking for. “Here they are!” he says, holding up the pages triumphantly.

Annie folds her hands in her lap and looks at him expectantly. “So...where do we start?” she asks, raising her eyebrows.

Peeta starts to relax just a bit, maybe from seeing how at ease Annie appears to be. He leans against the back of the couch and reaches into his bag for his recorder. “Do you mind if I turn this on?” he asks, leaning forward to place it in front of him on the coffee table.

“That’s fine.”

“Great. Makes things easier for me,” he chuckles nervously. He presses a button on the recorder. “It’s on now.” Peeta glances down at the notes in front of him, furrowing his brow as he reviews them quickly. “Let’s just start at the beginning, okay? Can you tell me how long you knew Primrose, and what your relationship with her was?”

Annie shifts slightly in her seat. “I’ve known Prim most of her life. Since she was a baby, really. I grew up on Seam Street, did you know that already?” Peeta shakes his head and jots in his notebook. “Yeah, my parents still live near the Everdeens. I used to babysit for them when I was younger.”

“What about closer to the time when Primrose disappeared? You worked at the middle school?”

“I did,” Annie confirms. “I taught English there...I’d been teaching for about two years, I think, before Prim, uh,” she trails off, biting her lip and looking away uncertainly. “Disappeared,” she finishes with a sigh.

Peeta nods as he continues taking notes and periodically referring to my case file. “And you taught Primrose in her, um, last year?” he asks awkwardly.

Annie nods. “She was in my eighth grade English class.”

I know that Peeta hasn’t exactly asked her any difficult questions so far - neither of them have even broached the topic of my appearance to Annie at the school or her subsequent breakdown - but I’m relieved to see that Annie seems to be handling everything so well. Aside from her hands twisting nervously in her lap, she’s acting remarkably normal.

Peeta takes a moment to look at Annie, almost as if he’s doing the same thing as me: trying to make sure that she’s really okay. He peers closely at her and asks, “Doing alright so far?”

She nods quickly and gives him a reassuring smile, which he gratefully returns.

From where I sit by the lake, my agitation is mounting despite Annie’s seemingly calm demeanor.  Peeta’s just now starting to talk about Annie’s life as a teacher; how can either of them be sure that she’s ready to discuss what happened at the school? I bite my fingernails nervously as I scoot closer to get a better view.

“How often did you interact with Prim at school?” Peeta asks.

“I was only her teacher when she was in eighth grade,” Annie explains. “I didn’t know too much about Prim’s school life outside of my English class.”

“Okay, um,” Peeta begins, jotting a note to himself, “did you know anything about her friends at school?”

Annie shakes her head. “Not really,” she responds apologetically. “She didn’t seem to be _close_ friends with anyone in my class. But she was friendly towards everyone,” she adds.

Peeta nods slowly, picking up my file and reading silently through several pages. After a few minutes, he sets the papers aside and leans back in his seat. A conflicted look passes over his face briefly before he shakes his head, almost imperceptibly, and turns back to Annie. “Is there anything else - anything at all - that you want to tell me about Primrose?”

My eyes narrow in confusion. He’s not going to ask her about what happened at the school?

Annie lets out a long sigh and purses her lips, staring off into the distance thoughtfully. Abruptly, she turns back to Peeta and blurts, “I think Prim’s dead. I think she died really soon after she went missing.”

Peeta gives her a puzzled look. “Why do you think that?” he asks her.

For the longest time, Annie doesn’t speak or move. I don’t really know how much time passes, but it’s long enough that I start to get seriously alarmed before I see her shake her head, as if she’s trying to clear unwanted thoughts out of her mind. She doesn’t give Peeta a direct answer, though; she just shrugs and tells him softly, “I just...have a feeling Prim’s not around anymore.”

“Do you suspect someone of taking her? Was there anyone who might’ve wanted to hurt her?” Peeta asks.

“No, absolutely not,” Annie responds vehemently. “Everyone loved Prim. No one who knew her would’ve wanted to hurt her.” Her voice breaks slightly over these words. It’s the first crack in her shell that I’ve noticed all day.

Peeta nods absently and gives Annie a tight, sad smile. He reaches to the coffee table and turns off the tape recorder. “I don’t have anything else, Annie. Do you want me to call Finnick and tell him we’re done?”

“No, I’ll call him in a few minutes,” she replies.

Peeta gathers his papers and returns everything to the manila folder containing my file. He stands, slipping his coat back on and slinging his satchel over his shoulder. “Then I’ll be heading out. Thanks for letting me stop by,” he tells her sincerely.

Annie stands and walks Peeta to the front door. “It really wasn’t so bad,” she assures him.

He turns to face Annie and reaches for her hand, giving it a brief, light squeeze. “I’m glad to hear it,” he tells her. They exchange goodbyes as Annie opens the front door, Peeta slipping out to head back to his car.

As I watch Peeta drive away, I decide to stay with Annie for a few more minutes, at least until Finnick gets back home. Even though there’s nothing I can really do for her, I just feel that I shouldn’t leave her alone right now.

I have to admit though, the fact that Peeta didn’t even ask Annie about the school incident is a huge weight off my mind. I didn’t expect this at all; I just assumed he’d ask her. The only thing I can imagine is that he’s trying to protect her, that he doesn’t want to risk triggering another breakdown like what happened six years ago.

I knew my instincts about Peeta were right: he’s such a _good_ person. He’s different from so many of the cynical cops I’ve seen come through here in the past. I wish I could make my sister see that.

But tonight’s about Annie, so I bring my wandering mind back to the present to check on her. She’s made her way into the kitchen, and I watch her sink heavily into one of chairs surrounding their small table. Part of me wonders why she didn’t mention anything to Peeta about the time I appeared to her in her classroom. Peeta gave her an opening, but she didn’t take it. Was she trying to guard against being dismissed as crazy? Or was she trying to protect herself from the memories of the incident?

I suppose it doesn’t matter either way; talking about it isn’t going to help Peeta solve my case.

For several minutes, I watch Annie as she stares blankly off into the distance, breathing deeply, palms flat on the table. I grow increasingly worried as the seconds tick past - maybe Peeta and I both read her wrong tonight, maybe she’s not handling things as well as she’s letting on. But what can I do from here?

Annie blinks rapidly, and I see her gaze shift slightly to the right. I follow it and see what she’s looking at: the refrigerator, which is covered in pictures that Patrick drew. As she looks at it, a small smile skirts her lips and her face noticeably softens. She lets out a deep breath and I hear a tiny, almost disbelieving-sounding laugh escape her lips. It’s almost as if she can’t believe she made it through the questioning in one piece.

But she did, and it makes me feel so much better to see her returning to herself. Things might just be okay after all.

* * *

“Do either of you girls want more of the lamb stew?” Effie asks, gesturing towards the generously-filled serving dish in the center of her dining table.

Johanna’s not one for manners - she’s told me numerous times that she doesn’t see the point given that we’re all dead and we’re not trying to impress anyone. So I’m not surprised to see her unceremoniously push her plate towards the serving dish, indicating to Effie that she’s ready for more. I can’t help but giggle when I see Effie purse her lips in annoyance.

Once she’s served another portion to Johanna, she raises her eyebrows in my direction. I shake my head. “No thanks, Effie,” I tell her. “I’m saving room for some of the crème brûlée you promised us for dessert.” I rub my hands together gleefully. Growing up poor like I did meant that there were lots of foods that I never got to try when I was alive - crème brûlée being one of them - but now that I’m here, I can’t get enough.

Tonight Jo and I were invited to Effie’s rowhouse for dinner. I don’t know how she finds time to do it - she’s probably escorted hundreds of new arrivals over the years - but Effie makes an effort to catch up with all of us periodically, even after we’ve moved into our own homes. In fact, Effie’s got a new girl living here right now, but she’s not joining us tonight. “Not up for visitors yet,” Effie explained.

Effie stares at Johanna in thinly-veiled horror as she watches her shovel stew into her mouth. After a few moments, Effie forces herself to turn towards me and asks, “What were you telling us earlier, Primrose? About the young man investigating the, um, _unfortunate_ incident that brought you here?”

“Oh, right!” I exclaim, feeling myself perk up. “Well, you know the police haven’t been doing much for the past few years.” Effie nods sympathetically. “So, the new guy - Peeta - he’s actually _investigating_ it again. Not just going through the motions like most of the others.”

“She’s also hoping the new guy helps her sister finally get laid,” Jo adds helpfully, between bites of her food.

My eyes widen in disbelief and my mouth drops open. “Jo!” I exclaim. “That’s not - ”

Johanna rolls her eyes at me. “You’re so pure,” she scoffs. “It’s exactly what your sister needs, even if you don’t realize it.”

“I just...I can’t...” I sputter helplessly. I don’t have any idea how to respond to her. Of course that’s not what I’m thinking about!

Thankfully, Effie decides to intervene and steer our conversation back in the right direction. She briefly glares at Jo before turning back to me. “It’s lovely to hear that someone’s trying to make progress. Has this Peeta found anything yet?”

“Um, not really,” I admit. Johanna’s eyes meet mine briefly, and I give her a pleading look. I know she’s thinking about what she heard when we spied on the station - that the police might not be doing everything they can for my case - but I don’t want to discuss it with Effie. Mostly because I still have no idea what’s going on.

For once, Jo’s able to keep her mouth shut, and I’m able to continue speaking before Effie can ask me any questions. “Peeta’s just been talking to people,” I explain. “You both remember Annie Cresta?” They nod in response; both of them are aware of what happened between Annie and me at the school. In fact, Jo and I were still living here with Effie when that unpleasantness occurred. “Peeta had to talk to her, and I was _so_ nervous about it. But she made it through okay.”

“How do you know that, Primrose? Were you watching?” Effie asks sharply.

“Uh...yes.”

“You have to be careful about that,” she warns me as she gets up to pace around the dining room. “You know that anyone you contacted in the past is susceptible to having it happen again. I know what happened with Annie was an accident, but you don’t want it to recur.”

I bite my lip, nodding as I look down at the napkin in my lap. I know she’s right - one of the first things she told us after we arrived here was not to try to contact people back on Earth. It’s risky and it’s nearly impossible to control. No one here even knows how or why it happens, or what kind of connection you have to have with the person to make a successful contact. They just tell us not to even try, so that nothing happens like...well, what happened with Annie.

“I, um...” I start, tapping my fingers nervously on the table. “It happened with Peeta, too,” I confess quietly. “Not the exact same thing, but...”

Effie abruptly stops pacing and turns to me. Even Jo raises her head and looks at me with surprise. I sink down in my chair guiltily.

“Is he alright?” Effie asks with concern.

I nod quickly. “He’s totally fine,” I assure them. “I don’t understand it, but he hasn’t seemed affected by it at all.”

Effie walks around the table to sit in the chair next to me, placing her hand on my shoulder. “Primrose, I know you understand this, but remember: the effects of a contact aren’t always immediate, and we aren’t always able to perceive them.” She pauses for a moment and sighs. “That’s why I tell you girls to _be careful_.”

“Effie, drop it,” Jo interjects. “She knows. She didn’t do it on purpose.”

I stay silent. I don’t have any reason to doubt what Effie’s saying, but...I don’t know what I’m supposed to do exactly. How can I sit up here, watching my mom and Katniss slowly wither away, without even _trying_ to help them? It just doesn’t seem right.

But at the same time, I don’t want to hurt anyone like I did Annie, either. Even unintentionally.

The rest of our meal with Effie proceeds uneventfully. Jo and I make a point of steering clear of any controversial topics and let Effie lead the conversation. She tells us about the new girl staying with her, and we promise to stop by to meet her sometime soon. Once Effie bids us goodbye, we step out into the cool evening air to walk home.

Johanna and I walk in silence until we reach the edge of the neighborhood, where the woods begin. We leave the sidewalk and the sound of our footsteps becomes muffled into the dirt of the path that leads to the meadow.

“Don’t let her make you feel guilty, Prim,” Johanna tells me suddenly.

“What?” I say, surprised.

“Everyone does it,” she continues. “We all try to reach people back on Earth. Even though they tell us not to.”

“Oh,” I respond thoughtfully. She doesn’t add anything more, but a question enters my mind as we continue on the trail to the meadow. I shouldn’t ask, but my curiosity gets the better of me. “Um...do you?”

“I used to.”

I hesitate. “But not anymore?”

“Nope,” she replies flatly.

It’s pretty clear that she doesn’t want to keep talking about it, but I find myself feeling a little bolder than usual tonight. I guess the worst that can happen is that she tells me to shut up, right?

“Who did you try to talk to?”

It’s dark, so I can’t see her reaction to my question. I can hear her sigh, though, so I’m surprised that she actually answers me.

“My sisters,” Johanna says shortly. As if anticipating my next question, she adds quickly, “I only did it in the beginning, right after I died. And it never worked, so I stopped trying.”

I can’t help but continue. “Why?” I press her.

“There was no point,” she says, shrugging dismissively. The path narrows and Jo moves ahead of me. She keeps talking, but all I can see is her back. “My death...wasn’t like yours. They have my body, and they think they know what happened.”

“And what was it?” I ask timidly, almost afraid to hear her answer.

Johanna stops abruptly in the middle of the path and quickly looks back at me. I skid to a stop to avoid hitting her. She shakes her head and continues walking forward; I assume her reaction means we’re done with the conversation.

So I’m caught off-guard when she speaks up a moment later: “They think I killed myself.”

I feel a lump forming in my throat and I swallow to force it down. “Did you?”

“No,” she answers forcefully.

We emerge from the woods into the meadow. I look up at the impossibly starry sky overhead. I get the sense that Johanna’s told me everything she’s going to say for today, but I can’t resist trying just one more time. “So, what - ” I barely get the words out before Jo stops me with an emphatic shake of her head.

“Sorry, I don’t want to keep talking about it,” she explains. I nod in understanding.

As we approach my cabin, she finally adds, “I just mentioned it because I don’t want you to feel bad about trying to reach Katniss. The people who make ‘the rules,’” she says, sarcastically air-quoting the last part, “assume that our families will move on eventually. They’re not thinking of people like you, Prim. People whose families have no fucking clue what happened to them.”

I open the front door and Johanna follows me inside, as she does most evenings. I turn to her wearily, “I know you’re right, Jo. I just don’t want to mess anything up.”

“You’ve got to trust your instincts.” she tells me.

“But what if I hurt someone, like Peeta or Annie, while I’m trying to help my family?” I say helplessly, dropping onto the sofa in the living room.

Jo flops down next to me. She takes a deep breath and it looks like she’s considering how to best respond. Eventually she plunges ahead. “If it were me, I’d do whatever it took to help my family, even if someone else got hurt.”

I lean back and stare up at the ceiling. I’m just not sure I feel the same.

* * *

I might as well admit it - despite Effie’s warnings, I’ve still been keeping tabs on Annie.

I’ve been trying to do it as discreetly as possible, though. Keeping my distance from the edge of the lake, being really quiet…I have no idea if any of this will help, and I’m just making guesses about what might minimize my impact. I understand that it’s still risky.

Since Annie was questioned by Peeta, though, I’ve felt compelled to check in on her now and then to make sure she’s _really_ doing okay. I can’t shake the feeling that something’s wrong, even though I don’t know what. Honestly, Annie’s been acting fine over the past few days, but I feel unsettled. Like a storm’s coming.

But nothing I’m seeing right now suggests anything out of the ordinary. It’s early afternoon, and Annie and Patrick are home alone while Finnick’s at work. I got here just in time to see a relatively quiet moment in Annie’s day - she’s just put Patrick down for a nap, and she’s curled up in her living room, reading a book.

I smile as I see her eyes starting to droop closed. Spending her days chasing around such a…um… _spirited_ child like Patrick probably leaves her constantly exhausted. I wonder if she’s ever considered going back to her old job as a teacher? It might be easier than dealing with her son all day, every day.

She fights to stay awake, closing her book and setting it aside before stretching her arms over her head. For a few minutes, she just stares off into the distance. Or at least, that’s what I think at first. Then I realize she’s actually looking at something: the large mirror that hangs in the entryway of her house. It’s just visible from her seat in the living room.

I can’t tell why she’s staring at it, though…or why she has such a strange look on her face while she’s doing it.

Without thinking, I scoot closer to the edge of the lake, trying to figure out what Annie’s looking at. I get on my hands and knees, narrowing my eyes as I peer into the water. But I don’t see anything, or at least, I don’t see whatever it is she sees.

I reach forward and drag my hand over the surface of the water, although I have no idea what I’m trying to accomplish by doing that. When the waves settle down and the image becomes clear again, I see that Annie’s standing. And walking slowly towards the mirror with an unreadable expression on her face.

She stops directly in front of the mirror and stares, as if she’s expecting to see something there. Her hand raises and she lightly drags it over the surface of the glass. She looks like she’s waiting.

I peer closely into the mirror. I see Annie’s placid face.

I let out a short gasp as I notice what else I see: the clear reflection of my own face.

It’s almost as if I’m standing right beside Annie, except that _I know_ I’m not. My eyes are riveted to the mirror - I can’t tear them away - but my hands reach for the ground beneath me, to remind me where I am. I grab handfuls of grass. I’m still at the lake.

But I’m also in Annie’s house, standing behind her, my face reflected over her right shoulder. Our eyes meet.

Annie smiles.

I freeze. I have no idea what to do, how to get away without causing a scene.

I can’t stop thinking that Effie was right. I didn’t listen. And now...

I decide to move. It’s the only thing I can possibly think of to break the connection. I start to back slowly away from the lake, but something happens. Annie’s snapped out of her trance and a look of horror covers her face. I don’t think she even realized what she was seeing before.

But she does now. She gasps and whips her head around to try to find me, but I’m not there. This time I’m not in the room with her, but I’m still visible in the mirror when she turns back to it. Her eyes dart back and forth, not understanding. She turns around again and still finds nothing.

And all this time, I’m still there in the mirror. Nothing I do can pull me out. I feel physically rooted to the spot where I’m sitting; I can’t move.

Annie rubs her hands roughly over her face, covering her eyes, but she can still see me. Finally, in frustration, she reaches for the wall and rips the mirror down, dropping and shattering it on the floor.

At the sound of the crash, something shifts; the connection is broken. I’m at the lake now, _completely_ , no part of me is there with her. Still, I scramble backwards, away from the shore, breathing heavily.

I collapse onto my back and stare at the clouds above me. I can’t stop shaking. What just happened?

What did I do?

I lie there for a few moments, chest heaving, silently berating myself for ignoring Effie. But the damage is done. The question is: how bad is it this time?

With only a second of hesitation, I return to the edge of the lake to see if Annie’s okay. The broken mirror frame and shattered pieces of glass are littered around the entryway, but Annie’s not there. I can hear her eerily calm voice coming from the living room. I follow the sound and see her perched on the sofa, clutching her cell phone to her ear. Even though I can only hear her side of the conversation, it seems obvious that she’s talking to Finnick.

“Can you come home?”

She pauses and squeezes her eyes shut, shaking her head violently in response to whatever Finnick is saying. “No, right now,” she murmurs.

There’s another brief silence as she listens to her husband. A look of impatience crosses her face before she speaks up again. “I can’t explain, just… _please_.”

The contrast between her quiet, mild voice and her frenzied appearance is stark. Thankfully, it appears that she didn’t get hurt when the mirror broke - or if she did, I can’t see it - but her face looks absolutely distraught. Her free hand is absently yanking clumps of hair out of her formerly neat ponytail, while she rocks back and forth in her seat.

Annie hangs up the phone and immediately drops it to the ground. She slides off the sofa onto her hands and knees and crawls to the nearest corner. When she gets there, she squeezes her eyes shut and covers her ears with both hands. She becomes frighteningly motionless.

I quickly check on Patrick, and I’m so grateful to find that he’s managed to sleep through all this. With any luck, he can stay asleep and not see what state his mother’s in right now.

Less than five minutes after Annie made her phone call, I see Finnick pull into the driveway. He looks mildly alarmed, but not overly so, probably due to Annie’s calm demeanor when they spoke. That changes the second he walks in the front door and hears the sound of broken glass crunching under his shoes. His eyes widen in fear.

“Annie!” he bellows frantically, looking side to side for any trace of her. Thankfully he quickly spots her huddled in the corner. He runs to her side and crouches in front of her, reaching gently for her wrists. “Annie,” he whispers, “what happened?” She resists his touch, struggling against him to keep her hands on her ears, refusing to open her eyes.

Finnick spies some of Patrick’s toys on the carpet near his feet, and this triggers a new wave of fear in him. He leaps to his feet, shouting, “Patrick?” as he runs through the house trying to find his son.

“The bedroom, the bedroom,” I chant silently as tears run down my face. “Please don’t leave Annie alone.”

When Finnick finally throws open the door to Patrick’s room, and sees him lying in bed rubbing his eyes blearily, he lets out a sigh of relief. He sits down on the bed and smoothes the hair off of Patrick’s forehead. “Hey, little guy. I need you to stay right here in your room for Daddy, okay? You’re going to visit Grandma this afternoon, alright?”

Patrick doesn’t seem fully awake yet - I’m not even sure he registered what Finnick just said - but Finnick leaves the room quickly to run back to Annie. She hasn’t moved an inch from the defensive posture she’d taken before.

Finnick sits on the floor next to her and fumbles in his pocket for his phone. I hear him call an ambulance, then Annie’s mom, his eyes never leaving his wife for a second. When he’s finished making his calls, he pulls Annie into his lap and rocks her. She never says a word or acknowledges him in any way.

I think I’m going to be sick.

I can’t watch anymore - I should never have watched in the first place. I can’t stop thinking that I could have prevented this if I’d just listened to Effie. If I’d not let myself complacently believe that everything was fine.

Tears continue streaming down my cheeks as I run back to my cabin, periodically swiping my hands over my face so I can see where I’m going. I slam the front door shut and lock it, leaning against it heavily as I allow myself to sob.

As I sink to my knees on the floor, I make myself promise to leave Annie alone from now on. For real this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your continued support for this story, and please keep telling us what you think through your comments and messages. We really appreciate it!
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> Huge thanks, as always, to sunfishdunes, our beta extraordinaire, and jennagill and desertginger, our super-vigilant pre-readers. We couldn’t do this without you!
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> I know that this chapter probably doesn’t answer all of your questions about Annie’s fate, but stay tuned for Chapter 11 for more. It’s another Peeta chapter, and it picks up where Chapter 9 left off.


	11. Peeta

"What happened to Annie?" My voice is urgent, but thankfully being on the phone shields Finnick from the fact that all color has drained from my face and my eyes are wide with fear.

"I'll tell you more when you get out here." His voice hiccups, and the words tumble from his lips, "Annie's parents are at home with Patrick, I'm here by myself. My parents are out of the country on vacation and Rye's in meetings all day. Please come down here, I can't handle this alone."

My heart clenches at the desperation in his voice. "Calm down, Finnick. I'm on my way. I promise." We say goodbye and I look over and see Katniss. Her face is shrouded in concern and she tries to keep herself protected from the imminent bad news by crossing her arms over her chest and taking a deep breath before I begin to speak.

"Katniss, I have to go. Something has happened to Annie and Finnick is waiting at the hospital for me. I'm sorry to cut this short but we can finish this the next time you are free."

She surprises me with her response, "I'm coming with you."

I sigh in frustration, every minute I'm here is a another minute Finnick is alone at the hospital. "I'm sorry, Katniss. But I need to go, we can finish up later." I pluck the journal from her hand and try to make my way to the door. She rushes after me, takes the journal back and tosses it on the bed.

"Look, Annie's my friend and I've done a shitty job of being there for her. I need to make it up to her somehow. I'm coming with you." Her voice is stern and leaves no room for argument.

I glance over at the journal, which is now laying partially open on the bed. I consider grabbing it one more time and being done with the situation, but seeing the determination and fear in Katniss's face, I decide to leave it for now and vow to myself to come back for it another time.

I can't waste any more time, "Get your coat on, let's go."

The car ride to the hospital is tense and quiet. Thankfully, like everything else in this sleepy little town, it only takes about five minutes to get there.

The heels of my dress shoes click loudly on the linoleum of the hospital's entrance. It's a sharp contrast from the quick, silent footsteps of Katniss trailing behind me. I realize I have no idea where to go and I glance back at Katniss. She rolls her eyes and nudges her way past me, waving her hand for me to follow.

I follow her down a long corridor until we both stop short when we see Finnick slumped over in his chair, his elbows resting on his knees and his face buried in his hands. Dreading what happens next, I take a deep breath before sitting next to him and placing my hand on his shoulder. I startle him, but he relaxes when he sees it's just me and scrubs his face with his hands.

There is an awkward silence hanging in the room. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Katniss shifting her weight back and forth on her legs and rubbing her arms to try and get warm. She's obviously uncomfortable, but I have to remind myself that she wanted to come, so I focus my attention back to my friend. "Finnick, can you tell me what happened? Where's Annie now?"

He takes a deep breath before speaking, trying to compose himself. "I don't really know what happened. She called me at work, and she just didn't sound like herself." He looks up at me, heartbroken. "She was so calm, Peeta. It was unsettling for her to request something so urgently, but her voice was so flat. She just wasn't my Annie on the phone. I made it to the house as soon as I could. When I got there she was in the corner of the living room with her hands over her ears. I couldn't get her to talk to me." His normally vibrant green eyes are pale and glassy as he continues to look up at me, "Peeta, I can't lose her. Patrick can't lose his mom."

I'm about to reassure him that everything will be okay and that Annie will snap out of it; she's just had an episode and things will eventually return to normal. But I don't have time to before Finnick notices Katniss standing next to me. He eyes her curiously and then turns back to me. I should have told him I was bringing her. Actually, I shouldn't have brought her to begin with and I can tell she is going to be trouble for me. My judgement is always clouded when I'm near her. She invades my thoughts and determines my actions. Like right now, I'm at the hospital, trying to be here for my friend, and she is at the forefront of my mind. Her effect over me is worrisome, but I need to think about that later.

Katniss clears her throat, "I'm, um, going to grab some coffee. Can I get some for either one of you?"

Finnick puts his hand up, motioning that he doesn't need any. I shift in my seat to pull my wallet out of my back pocket, so I can give Katniss money to get our drinks. She dismisses me and asks, "How do you take it? Sugar? Cream?"

"Light, no sugar." Glancing back at Finnick, he's reverted back to his original position with his head in his hands. I lean closer to Katniss and whisper in her direction, "Do you mind going ahead and getting one for him, too? He takes his extra cream, extra sugar." If there is one thing I've learned at the station, it's how everyone takes their coffee. If Haymitch were here, he'd take it black with room for Jameson.

"I don't mind. I'll be back in a few minutes." I watch her walk back the way we came in. I was so lost earlier, I didn't even notice if we passed the cafeteria or not.

Finnick surprises me when he speaks, his voice is stern, like when he's reprimanding his son. "Be careful with that."

"With what?"

"With Katniss, that's what. What is she doing here? You're not getting involved with her, are you Peet?"

My jaw drops. Can he really be asking this? "No! Nothing is going on with Katniss. I was going through Prim's room with her when you called. She overheard the conversation and demanded that she come. I didn't really have much of a choice. I'm sorry for bringing her with me. I know the last thing you need is some stranger lurking around, invading your privacy."

"Katniss isn't a stranger," he huffs. "She's one of Annie's oldest friends. And trust me, over the past few years, I've come to know her quite well through our Monday morning chats."

"Oh. I didn't realize she and Annie were that close."

"Not anymore. Annie used to babysit Katniss and Prim when they were younger. Annie would joke that Katniss was more mature than people twice her age. Always so serious. Annie called her an 'old soul.' Whatever the hell that means." He chuckles softly. "But, you know how Annie is, she's always believed in shit like that. Do you know why she stopped being a teacher here and moved to Pittsburgh?"

Actually, thanks to Rye, I do. But, I fake it and shake my head, giving him the go ahead to tell me his version of the story.

"She was Prim's teacher when she went missing." He sighs and shakes his head like he can't believe what he is about to tell me. "She thinks she saw Prim in her classroom after she died, like a fucking ghost. That incident sent her to the hospital the first time. When she got out, she moved to Pittsburgh to live with her cousin, who just happened to live in my building." He chuckles, "I got their mail by accident one day and I was a goner after that. You know the rest; we hardly dated six months before we got married. I didn't think I could ever love anyone or anything as much as I love her."

I smile remembering how we were all shocked when Finnick told us he was getting married after only knowing this girl for a short time. We thought he was crazy, but after seeing them together, no one had a doubt that they were meant to be together. "So Annie was in the hospital before, because she saw Prim after she disappeared? What makes her think that Prim's dead?"

"Come on, man. Everyone knows she's dead. Chances are she died pretty soon after she went missing. Annie might not always be the most grounded person, but she's not stupid."

"I didn't say she was. I'm just trying to understand the situation."

"What's there to understand, Peeta?" He stands up and paces the floor, flailing his arms around while he continues talking. His voice gets louder and louder with each word. "My wife is in the hospital and I'm fucking terrified the doctor is going to come out and say she's insane or she's unfit to be a mother!"

Finnick picks up one of the chairs he is standing next to and throws it across the waiting room, knocking over a side table and causing the other two people in the room to look up from their magazines. They see the crazed man standing in the middle of the room, pick up their stuff and walk out. He's out of breath and his chest is heaving. He turns to look at me and he grabs handfuls of hair, trying to pull himself back to reality. "What do I do? I can't do this without her. I knew I shouldn't have let her do that goddamn interview! It was just bringing all this shit up. I knew this would fucking happen." He starts openly sobbing. "Why did I let you talk me into this? I knew better."

I jump up from my seat and pull him into a tight hug, squeezing as hard as I can. I feel his body shake against me; he needs to let this out. "Finnick, I'm so sorry. I had no idea this could happen."

Looking over Finnick's shoulder, Katniss walks into the room holding a cardboard tray with three cups of coffee and a security guard trailing close behind her. His deep voice bellows, "What the hell is going on in here?"

Finnick pushes me away and wipes his face. "It's okay, Thresh. I just lost my cool. Annie's in with the doctors right now."

The guard is built like an ox and I'm really glad Finnick knows him. I mean, I know we are on the force, but Finnick did begin to destroy a public waiting room. Thresh has every right to call for backup and have Finnick taken in, and I'm not sure either one of us could resist.

"Shit, Finnick. I'm sorry to hear that. I'll block this area off for you. Don't worry about other patients. Good luck with Annie."

Finnick nods, turns away, and begins his pacing of the room again.

Katniss hands me my coffee and walks over to give Finnick his. When he takes it from her a doctor walks into the small room.

"Mr. Odair, could you please come with me? Annie is responsive now, and I'd like to talk with the two of you about her treatment options."

Katniss and I sit down in two of the most uncomfortable plastic chairs ever made. We sit silently and wait for a while avoiding conversation, sipping our coffee, flipping through old magazines, and watching an informative health program entitled  _Menopause and Me_ , on loop.

I probably should talk to her, ask her about the journal or tell her she doesn't really need to be here and offer her a cab home. But truth is, now that Finnick isn't here, I'm glad she came. I'm not all that comfortable in hospitals, and the part of my brain that I just can't shut off is actually really excited to have her here with me. I steal glances over in her direction, sitting across from me. While she reads her magazine her lips move a little and I can't help but smirk.

I try to swallow, but all of the sudden my mouth has gone dry and I feel anxiety knot in my stomach. Why am I nervous all of a sudden? I've been talking to her all day. It's embarrassing how scratchy my voice is when I speak to her, "Hey, Katniss?"

She looks up from her magazine and finishes the last of her coffee. "Yes?"

"There were just a few more things I wanted to go over with you. Do you think you could meet with me again to go over it? Sometime this week?"

She closes up her magazine and sets it on the table beside her. "Um, I guess. When did you have in mind?"

The apprehension in her face makes me rethink asking her; maybe I was stepping out of line. No use backing out now. "Well, do you have another day off this week? Maybe we could meet up somewhere?"

She pauses for a moment and it's almost like I can see her weighing her options. She slightly tilts her head back and forth before answering. "Well, I'm working doubles all week. Cinna is going out of town and I promised him I'd pick up his shifts. I don't really know when I'd have time."

I nod my head in understanding. I don't want to press the issue, but there are a few more things I want to go over and I really don't want to sit on anything when I've been making such good progress. She speaks up again before I have a chance to try and convince her. "But, if you think it will help Prim's case, I'm sure I can find the time. When were you thinking?"

"Seriously, anytime." Shit, I hope I didn't sound too eager. "What I mean to say is that if you'd like to meet when you get off from work one night or something, I'd be fine with that."

She takes another moment to think. "Sunday night would probably be best. We close earlier on Sundays - I'm usually out of there by 10 or 10:30."

"That'll work, just give me a call when you leave. We could meet up somewhere or you could," I'm pretty sure it's a bad idea that I'm about to say this, "- come over to my house. It's pretty close to The Hob."

The scowl on her face tells me that I'm an ass and overstepped my boundaries. So, I'm completely shocked when she says, "I can do that. I'll call you when I leave work."

I try to remain calm as I respond, "Oh, okay. That would be great." We lock eyes for just a moment. The cool grey of her irises are striking and I know I'm staring, but right now, I couldn't care less. She looks away first and picks her magazine back up and flips through it again, breaking the moment.

I look back over at the television at the far end of the room. The informational program starts over again from the beginning. "I think if I watch this one more time, I'm going to be convinced I have early onset menopause. I already sleep with the windows open because I get hot at night and I've had to pee three times today. I'm starting to get concerned."

Katniss smirks, not taking her eyes off the page of her magazine. "I don't think you have to be concerned until the vaginal dryness sets in."

We look at each other for a moment, as what she just said sinks in, before bursting out laughing at the absurdity of the conversation. The serious Katniss Everdeen is finally letting go and she's beautiful when she laughs.

Unfortunately, our laughter is cut short when we see movement come from the other end of the waiting room; it's Finnick walking back towards us.

If it's possible, the handsome man that I saw earlier this morning, the one always so bright and vibrant, has aged ten years and looks like he's had the life drained from him. Katniss and I both stand up, waiting to greet him and take care of anything he might request.

Finnick clears his throat. His eyes are rimmed red; it's obvious he's been crying. "They're going to move her to the mental health facility this evening. I'm going to go get Patrick to let her parents come up here. I don't want him to see her like this. Not yet."

Katniss steps forward. "I could watch Patrick so her parents can come up here. She used to watch Prim and me, I kind of owe her."

Finnick shakes his head. "Thank you, but no. I just need to be with my son right now. I want to explain to him what is going on. He should know his mother is sick and she won't be home for a while."

"Do you need a ride?" I ask.

"No, I'm okay to drive. Also, Annie wants to see you two." Finnick pulls his jacket on and heads towards the exit. "You'll want to go ahead and go in there, they just gave her more sedatives. She probably won't be able to stay awake for too long. She's in room D-4."

We walk silently through the double doors and check in at the nurses station. A short, round woman in green scrub pants and a cheerily-patterned top walks us to Annie's room.

Annie has always been a petite woman, but in the large hospital bed, she looks like a child. She's curled up on her side and staring out the window. Her long dark hair, usually shiny and curled, is put up in a messy bun on top of her head. Her usual lovely face looks dull and there are dark circles under eyes. I knock on the door frame to get her attention. She turns to face us and a small smile inches across her lips.

Her voice is groggy and she looks very tired. She sits up in the bed while she smooths down her hair. "I'm sorry I look like such a mess and I'm sure I've pretty much ruined your entire day."

Katniss sits down on her bed. She takes Annie's hand, placing both of hers around it. "Annie, you haven't ruined anything. Are you okay?"

The kindness in Annie's soft green eyes reminds me more of the Annie I know. "I saw her, Katniss. I saw her again."

Katniss looks back at me with an eyebrow raised. I know Katniss is confused and I wish I could just blame what Annie is saying on the drugs, or maybe even some kind of stress. But, I know who she means, she thinks she saw Prim.

"Katniss, she was just as beautiful as I remember her," Annie tells her with glassy eyes and slight wistfulness in her voice. "She hasn't aged a day."

Katniss is shaking her head, not wanting the pieces of what she is saying to come together. "Annie, who are you talking about? Who looks the same?"

"Prim, of course. I saw Prim today. She looked lovely. Her hair was in two pigtails, just like she wore it when she was little."

There is a tear running down Katniss's cheek, and I want nothing more than to scoop her up in my arms and try to comfort her. She wipes her cheek before speaking. "Annie, what are you talking about? How could you have seen Prim?"

"She came to me, again." Annie is no longer making eye contact with anyone and it seems like she is looking right through Katniss. The dreamy expression on her face is disquieting.

Katniss is getting more and more agitated. "What are you talking about, again? What does that even mean? You aren't making any sense."

Annie's face turns serious, and the drug-induced haze seems to have instantly vanished and her eyes lock in on Katniss. "Katniss, I'm telling you the truth. Prim came to me before, right after she disappeared. She did it again today. It was the same strange feeling I had in my classroom, like someone was right there. Like someone was watching me. When I looked up, I saw something in the hallway mirror. I walked towards it, thinking maybe it was my mind playing tricks on me. But when I got up to it, I saw her. Prim was standing right behind me. I don't know if she was behind me the whole time or if she was just in the mirror. But I could see her. Somehow, I knew she was there with me."

The tears are flowing freely down Katniss's face. I want to go and comfort them both, but I feel unsettled as well. Is Annie telling the truth? Not that I think she's lying about what she believes, but did Prim really come to her? The feeling she had - that she knew Prim was there with her - It sounds eerily similar to what I experienced at the station the first time I opened Prim's file. I had the same uneasy feeling that I knew someone was standing right behind me. Was it Prim?

_What the hell am I talking about? Get it together, Mellark. You don't believe in shit like this. Everyone gets creeped out from time to time. Don't get pulled in by the ramblings of a mad woman. As much as you love Annie, just remember that she is ill and these are just her hallucinations. They're probably caused by lack of sleep and stress. You need to pull yourself together and be there for her, Finnick, and now Katniss._

The nurse walks back in to let us know that visiting hours are over. We say our goodbyes to Annie and are escorted out of the room.

I take Katniss home and any closeness or camaraderie we shared earlier in the day is gone. Katniss shut down when we left the hospital. She didn't speak to me again, even when I asked her if she still wanted to meet on Sunday. She only gave a slight nod and got out of the car.

* * *

 

I haven't heard from Katniss all week. She and I are supposed to get together this evening to go over a few more things in Prim's case. I could call her, but I don't want to harp on this if she is still upset after seeing Annie the other day.

Finnick has been out all week taking care of Patrick and visiting Annie. From what he has told me, she seems to be doing really well in the hospital, but it will probably be a few weeks before she is released. My brother Rye is going to be coming in a week or two to visit and he'll be staying with me. I haven't lived under the same roof as him in years. That ought to be interesting when he gets here.

The weather turned a little colder last night, so I wasn't able to go running this morning like I wanted to. I'm currently on my treadmill, trying to make it through the last three minutes of my run on a steep incline. The loud and constant thud of my feet hitting the belt and the whirring noise from the motor make me almost miss the ringing of my cell phone. If my music hadn't stopped, I never would have noticed I had a call coming in.

Katniss's name flashes on the screen and I silently thank her for the excuse to slow down my speed and start cooling down. I think I can live without those last grueling two and a half minutes. When I'm finally able to catch my breath a little I answer, "Hello?"

It's quiet on the other end and all I can hear is my own heavy breathing. I'm sure that's not creepy at all. "Peeta? Are you okay?"

I'm finally able to stop and I hold onto the handrail when I try to speak again, still out of breath. "Yeah… I'm fine. I was just running."

"Oh. I'm sorry if I interrupted anything."

"No! You didn't interrupt. I was just finishing up. Actually, I should be thanking you. I was really regretting my incline choice."

I could swear I almost hear a little chuckle on her end. "I only have a minute. I'm on break right now. Do you still want me to come over tonight to go over Prim's case?"

I'm wiping the sweat from my face and chest. I really need to turn down the heat in here. "Yeah, if you'd like to. There are a few things I want to go over. I've gotten the okay from Haymitch to canvass the area again and I wanted to talk to you about some things you think might be important to ask."

"Yeah, okay. I'll come by after I get off."

"Sounds good, I'll text you the address."

After I hit send on the text message, I look around my house. This place really needs to be cleaned up.

The evening has gotten away from me. I straightened up the house, took a shower, and um, took care of myself.

I've been a little on edge ever since the realization of Katniss being over at my house hit me. I thought it would help me calm down and relax, but I'm afraid it's just made things worse. Thinking of Katniss walking through the front door and taking her to the bedroom, or the sofa, or the kitchen table, may have done wonders for my libido, but it's made me a little anxious for this evening. The more I see and talk to her, the harder it is to keep this professional.

So, since that hasn't worked, I decided to do my second favorite activity to calm myself down - painting. I took the small sunroom off the kitchen and turned it into a makeshift studio, as the lighting is excellent during the day. It was actually the reason I picked this house. Well, that and that fact that it was available immediately.

I get lost in painting. My mind just becomes so focused on what I'm doing, that I easily lose track of time. If my stomach hadn't growled, I probably would have just kept going until Katniss got here. But after the incessant rumblings, I decide to clean up and make myself something to eat.

Just as I open the door to my embarrassingly empty pantry, there is a knock on my front door. I rush over and take a deep breath before opening it. It's now or never.

I flip on the outside light, not realizing I hadn't turned it on for her before, and open the heavy wood door. A burst of cool air hits me and I see Katniss standing there rubbing her arms and slightly bouncing up and down. It's started to rain, and there are fat raindrops sticking to her hair and eyelashes. It's one of the many times I want to tell her how pretty she looks, but I hold my tongue.

She surprises me and walks into the house before being invited in. I guess I should have already asked her to come in, but I was too busy staring at her like a dumbass. She dusts herself off in my entryway and stomps some mud off her shoes and onto the mat. "Sorry, my truck doesn't have heat and I'm freezing. I had to come in."

"Oh, it's no problem. Here, let me take your jacket." I pull the worn leather coat that is a few sizes too big for her from her shoulders. It's damp and cold from the rain, so I hang it up in the entryway closet to dry.

"I know it's late, but I haven't eaten yet. I was just about to order some Chinese food. Would you like some?"

She hesitates for a moment. "No, it's okay. Go ahead and get yours, though."

"You sure? My treat. I mean, you are at my house, and I would be a pretty terrible host if I ate moderately priced, inauthentic Chinese food in front of you."

"No, really I'm fine." She stubbornly tells me again.

I pick up my phone to call, but then I hear a stomach growl and I know it wasn't mine. I look over at her just in time to see her blush with embarrassment. It's so adorable, I have to laugh. "Well, that settles it. You're splitting my order of broccoli beef and fried rice with me."

She scowls at me now, but I'm pretty sure she'll change her mind once the food gets here.

Before our meal arrives, we go over the questions I'd like to ask the people still living on Capitol Drive. Mostly, it's just the standard things like, "Do you remember seeing this girl? Did you notice anyone suspicious in the neighborhood or around the rec center during the time of the incident? Any strange vehicles?"

But Katniss suggests that she'd like for me to ask if they'd ever met Prim. She thinks that maybe if they knew her, they'd care more and try to help. I can understand her reasoning, but if anyone felt that way, I'm sure they would've already helped the police six years ago.

After I pay the delivery driver we sit down on the sofa and eat. I'm not normally one to brag, but I was right about her changing her mind. She wastes no time clearing her plate. In fact, I'm pretty glad I ordered a couple extra egg rolls, too, or else I probably wouldn't have gotten the one I did.

We both crack open our fortune cookies and are about to compare fortunes when my phone starts to ring. It's after 11 on Sunday night and Haymitch is calling me. Of course. I grab my phone and stand up. "Hey Katniss, I'm just going to grab this real quick, it's my boss. I'll be right back."

She nods her head and stuffs half of her cookie into her mouth and speaks, "No problem."

I step into the kitchen and answer the phone, but can't even get out a "hello" before Haymitch starts in on me, his speech slurred, "It's about time you answered your goddamn phone. It's Sunday night and you have work in the morning, you better not be out."

I sigh, "No sir, I'm at home. May I help you?"

"Not really, but I thought you should know that Snow finally came in for questioning today. Darius said he couldn't get anything from him. He's already got a team of lawyers ready to go if they pursue this any further." He grunts, "Look. Darius really thinks that son of a bitch either did it or has some part of it. I want you to find out what you can on him."

"Darius really thinks that he killed that girl?" Something moves out of the corner of my eye and I see Katniss flop back down on the couch. I furrow my brow and peek into the living room. She doesn't seem to be paying any attention to me and looks pretty into the show she's watching.

I go back to pacing around the kitchen. "Well, I was thinking about canvassing Capitol Drive again for the Everdeen case. I'll make sure to keep an eye on him while I'm in the area."

"Be sure that you do." He slams his phone and it disconnects our call.

I go back into the living room and collapse on the couch. When I prop my feet up on the coffee table, Katniss pulls her knees up to her chest. I flip the channels until we both agree on an episode of Duck Dynasty. Actually, she picked it, I just agreed to stop changing channels.

We sit in comfortable silence for a moment, listening to Jace talk about pulling a prank on either his brother or uncle - I can't tell them apart - when Katniss turns to me and curls one leg underneath her. "Peeta, can you be honest with me?"

"I don't really think I've lied to you before."

She nods. "Tell me, do you really think asking people these questions six years after Prim went missing is going to accomplish anything?"

"I do." I shift on the couch so I am facing her and mimic the way she is sitting. "I know it seems like a long time has passed, but that's also given these people a long time to deal with their guilt if they knew something and didn't come forward with it sooner. If we get to that right person, us asking them might just be the chance for them to clear their conscience. When a case has been open for this long, that's usually what happens."

She takes in what I just told her. The slight flush on her cheeks makes me wonder if I really do have the heat turned up too high in here. She startles me when she reaches her hand up to my face and wipes at something on my cheek. "You have something green on your face."

I try to swallow, but I can't seem to move my throat. "I was painting earlier, I thought I had cleaned that off."

Her hand lingers on my face and I can't help but lean into her touch. Unconsciously, I move closer to her. I can't be misreading this, I know she can feel what I feel in this moment. She opens her mouth slightly and I'm close enough the feel the warmth of her soft, pink lips against my skin. Just as our lips are about to touch there is a loud bang on the television and some member of the Duck Dynasty family hooting about shooting something.

Motherfucker.

Both of us are pulled from the moment in a flurry of cursing by me and Katniss jumping off the couch, slipping on her shoes.

"I have to go!" She exclaims, frantically searching for her car keys and rushing to the coat closet in the entryway.

I sit on the couch in a stupor until I realize what is going on. I jump up and follow her to the door.

"Katniss, you don't have to go."

She swings open the door, almost hitting me with it in the process, while simultaneously putting on her jacket. "Thank you for dinner and all your work on Prim's case. I'll talk to you later."

She slams the door shut behind her, leaving me to bang my forehead against the door while listening to her truck rumble to life after her trying to start it a few times. I can't believe what I almost let happen. I am such an idiot.

I walk over to the television and turn it off, both thanking it and hating it more than anything I ever have in my life. I take the remnants of our dinner and toss them in the sink, not caring if I break a plate or not and go back to my bedroom to try and get some sleep.

I'm running through the woods and into a large, open meadow. It's not nighttime, but all I can see is a cloudy void ahead of me. I know it's cold, but I can't feel it. I have no idea where I am, but yet I know exactly where I am going.

My heart is pounding loudly in my ears and I feel this enormous weight against my chest, making my breathing even more difficult. I don't know what I'm running from, but the despair and fear I feel brings a tear to my eye. I've never felt anything like it before. I look up and see that I am following a young girl with blonde hair flowing behind her. I beg for her to slow down to ask her what we are running from, but she doesn't stop. She doesn't even look back. I do my best to keep up with her, but I feel the weight on my chest keep pulling me back. It's no use; she disappears into the void before me and I'm being yanked back by the very thing I've been running from. I scream out and thrash, but it won't stop.

I wake, sitting upright in my bed, sweat dripping down my chest even though I see the curtains blowing in the breeze from my open window. My throat is sore from screaming and I can't catch my breath. I've had this dream before. They just recently started coming to me since I moved here. I sink back into the bed, trying to fall back asleep, but every time I close my eyes, I see that girl running. In the back of my mind, I know who it is, but I refuse to believe it. The feeling I get from this dream is too familiar, like I know the person so well, but I never met Prim. How can I feel this way?

The clock on my nightstand reads a little past 4 o'clock. I know I'm not going to be able to go back to sleep now, so I get up and stumble my way down the hall to my studio and do what I have done since I was little.

I paint the bad dreams away.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We would like to thank everyone for their patience and continued support with our story. All of the messages and reviews have meant so much to the three of us.
> 
> A big thank you to our lovely beta sunfishdunes and our fantastic pre-readers desertginger and jennagill. You ladies are so quick to help and we really appreciate it.
> 
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	12. Katniss

Chapter 12: Katniss

* * *

 

Lady trots along the sidewalk at the end of her leash, her nails scraping rhythmically on the concrete, stopping to sniff a fence post here, a bush there. The rain we’ve been having for the past few days has wiped away most of the snow, and the spring thaw has uncovered a whole bunch of new smells for her to investigate.

As time consuming as it is, having to squeeze daily walks in with my already busy schedule, I can’t find it in myself to begrudge Lady this simple pleasure. I didn’t want a dog, had never even thought about owning one, but after Dad died I would’ve done anything to cheer Prim up, and the fat, happy little puppy that jumped at us when we went to the shelter was exactly what the doctor ordered. Even I had to admit that she was damn cute, her tail wagging so hard that her whole body wiggled with excitement, and I couldn’t help but laugh when Prim picked her up and she excitedly painted Prim’s face with her saliva.

It was good for Prim to have some responsibility, and as much as I hated to admit it, Lady brought us both joy. Housetraining her was a pain in my ass - especially because it definitely became a pain in _my_ ass, when Prim wouldn’t get up to let her out in the middle of the night - and we had to add dog food and vet visits and toys to our list of expenses, but it was worth the smile on Prim’s face.

And now, I don’t know what I’d do without the stupid mutt. She’s brought me so much comfort in the years since Prim disappeared, comfort in the ease of routine taking her for her daily walks and feeding her, and in the warm weight of her at the end of my bed, her cold wet nose pushing under my arm when I wake screaming from dreams of Prim and blood and death. Lady never looks at me with pity, never bugs me with stupid questions or judgements on how I choose to live my life in order to keep Mom and me above water. She just loves, and she’s always there when I need her, and I’m grateful for it. She’s the only thing in the world that I can let myself need anymore, since Prim disappeared.

Besides the newly revealed smells that Lady is enjoying, this walk is special for another reason. Today we’re walking a different route than usual, against my better judgement, and I’m glad to have the dog walking as an excuse.

Today we’re walking Capitol Drive.

I know this is a bad idea, and I know that if Haymitch or Finnick found out I was interfering in police business, they could shut down the case. They’ve kept it open this long, but who knows what could be the last straw. Not to mention that Peeta might get in trouble for letting me overhear that there was some connection to a murder victim and a resident of this street. I wasn’t even supposed to be at Peeta’s house, let alone overhear that particular conversation.

I shouldn’t be here. I should just let Peeta and the other cops do their job; I want to trust Peeta, and I know that he wants to help. But none of the cops who have been on her case since her disappearance have been able to do any good, and I’m tired of just sitting back and waiting for the police to figure things out. I can’t trust that the cops will follow through on this lead properly, but maybe I can find something on my own.

I’m awed by the sheer size of the houses that line this street, and the impossibly manicured lawns, even though the snow only just melted away. Flowers are already being cultivated, and the high, tall windows are already sparkling clean. I remind myself that people like those who live here have the money to pay regular people like me to do just about anything they could want.

I feel a stab of jealousy as I imagine how easy it must be to live in such privilege, never having to take an extra shift at work or choose between getting my hair cut or fixing the broken screen door. While I’m wondering where I’ll get the money to keep Dad’s old truck running, these people have the luxury of dwelling on petty things like a garden and how nice their houses look from the street. I think of our dilapidated old house that has fallen into disrepair since Dad passed, kept up only by my questionable skills and Gale’s help.

Gale. I’m filled with guilt when I remember the things that I said to him, how I left things with the best friend I’ve ever had. Even though the thought of giving Prim's old bike to anyone, even Posy, still fills me with pain and dread and anger, I make a mental note to call him later and try to make things better. He might be an ass but he’s still my best and only friend, and beggars can’t be choosers.

But then again, maybe Gale isn’t my only friend now. There was that _thing_ that happened the other night at Peeta’s, a thing that I don’t want to name because I’m afraid of what it might mean. I haven’t let myself feel anything for anyone or anything for so long, and the weight of my interactions with Peeta presses heavy in my belly any time I think about it. I’m pretty sure there was a moment while we were sitting together on the couch, before we were interrupted… a moment when we almost kissed.

That’s the other reason I’m out snooping around Capitol Drive today: I don’t want to spend any more time dwelling on that moment because I think I might _want_ to be kissed by Peeta. And that thought terrifies me.

I’m startled out of my reverie when Lady gives an almighty tug on her leash and lunges forward, yanking the leash from my hand and leaving an unpleasant burn behind. “Lady, no!” I shout, but it’s too late, she’s tearing down the sidewalk away from me. I feel a stab of fear and glance up and down the street, and a rush of relief when I see that the street is empty of vehicles.

Lady takes a sharp corner into one of the immaculate yards and I groan in dismay. “Lady, come!” I try, but she’s hell bent on whatever she saw, and I hope it’s not one of these millionaire’s fat, spoiled cat she’s after. I don’t want to have to explain to these uptight assholes that dogs are going to do what dogs do, and one of those things is chase strange cats.

I round the corner after her, and no, it’s not a cat, but if possible, it’s actually worse. She’s got her nose to the ground and her paws are flying, kicking up a spray of dirt into the air behind her as she starts an impressive hole at the base of one of the bushes in the yard.

“Shit! Lady, no!” I shout and lunge forward to grab the end of her leash and drag her back away from the bush. She struggles against the leash, whining and flinging little bits of grass left and right as she scrambles to get back to the bush, and I don’t let myself stop pulling until she’s safely on the driveway where she can’t do any more damage.

And it’s then that I look back and see what she was digging in so furiously and my blood runs cold and my heart jumps painfully in my chest.

A primrose bush.

It has to be a coincidence, right? Some weird, fucked up coincidence. But it’s not like evening primroses are a common plant for a stuck-up suburban neighborhood garden; there are tons of fancier plants that would grace this property better. And why would Lady be so intent on digging in this particular bush, of all the plants in this well-stocked garden?

Well-stocked is actually almost an understatement; it’s a botanist’s dream, really. There are roses of almost every imaginable species, not just the common ones, and they’ve been cultivated with the utmost care. And over there, a few paces away from the primroses, aren’t those the spade shaped leaves of a nightlock plant? They’re extremely rare and deadly poisonous and I’ve only seen them in textbooks; I’d almost be tempted to get down on my knees and have a closer look at it if I wasn’t already freaked out and standing with a crazed dog in some stranger’s yard.

“Can I help you?”

I look up with a shock, and stare directly into the eyes of an elderly man. A man who could be an off-duty Santa Claus, if Santa wore gardening gloves and carried around half transplanted strawberry plants. I guess not all the swanky residents of Panem’s richest neighborhood hire their gardeners.

His eyes behind a set of thin framed glasses are flat as they flicker between Lady, still scrabbling on the concrete, and the primrose bush she’d been digging in.

“Uh, I’m so sorry, sir.  If she damaged your plant, I’d be happy to repay-”

He cuts me off with a raised hand, shaking his head. “Not to worry, my dear girl. It doesn’t look like there’s much damage.” He turns back to me, and his mouth curls into what I suppose is meant to be a kind smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. A feeling of cold washes over me and I suppress a shiver, despite the warm spring air.

“Really, I feel terrible, Mr….”

“Snow,” he supplies. “And you are?”

I’m unnerved by his blank stare, and I answer without thinking. “Katniss. Katniss Everdeen.” I twist my hand to loop Lady’s leash around it again, pulling her in closer to me. “I’d really like to pay you for the-” I swallow hard- “primroses, Mr. Snow.”

He tilts his head, that cold, empty smile playing around his lips as he studies me. “I’m impressed that you know so much about flowers, Ms. Everdeen. But that’s really not necessary, I assure you.”

Suddenly Lady barks, and I jump, staring down at her incredulously. She’s normally such a quiet dog. A tremor runs up the leash in my hand as Lady begins to growl in one long, unbroken string, and she’s not straining towards the primroses anymore. Her hackles are up and she’s staring at the man in front of us, who looks down at her with a calm, almost curious expression that gives me the fucking creeps.

He looks back up at me, and his eyes are pale blue and blank as he shifts the strawberry plant in his hands, and even though he never stops smiling, I take an involuntary step back.

“Just try and keep your dog in hand for next time, please,” he says mildly.

I nod back jerkily in agreement, my whole body tense as he stares back at me, his eyes boring into mine in a silent standoff. Lady is still watching him, and even though she’s not making any sound that I can hear, I still feel the vibration of her silent growls traveling down the taut line of the leash.

I’m the one that breaks first. “C’mon Lady,” I say shakily, my voice strange in my own ears. I force myself into motion, dragging the dog down Snow’s driveway, feeling his cold eyes watching me every step of the way. I want nothing more than to be as far away from that place as possible.

My dog is not aggressive. She doesn’t just growl at random strangers; sure, she’ll give you a sniff or two, but she’s more likely to give you a lick than to bite you, even if she doesn’t know you. My stomach twists as I remember the last time she acted like this - six years ago, on the day my sister disappeared from me forever.

I can’t get out of this fucking neighborhood fast enough. By the time Lady gives up and stops fighting me, I’m walking so fast that I’m nearly jogging down the street. My stomach is unsettled and I feel the bile in the back of my throat, like I could throw up at any minute, and that’d be just what I need right now: to puke all over one of these pristine yards.

What could this mean? Surely my dog hating the man and a primrose bush in his garden doesn’t mean anything? But that’s two really crazy coincidences, plus the feeling that I can’t shake that there is something really, really wrong with him. He looks like a good natured grandfather but there was something there, in the depths of his eyes…

The moment I turn the corner out of Capitol Drive, back into the real world, I breathe a sigh of relief, finally letting my feet slow down. I glance over my shoulder twitchily, as if expecting to see someone following me, but of course, there’s no one there.

I need to see Peeta. I wasn’t supposed to be on that street snooping and I don’t know if he’ll be angry at me for going off on my own but he needs to know; I need to tell him about what just happened.

I drag my phone out of my back pocket, scroll through the contacts until I find Peeta’s name and type out a text. **_Where are you? Can I come over?_** I hit send and keep walking towards home, the phone clutched in my hand as I wait anxiously for his reply.

It’s not long before the phone vibrates against my palm. It’s Peeta: **_At the hospital, visiting Annie. I’ll call you later, okay?_**

My stomach drops. I really need to talk to him, and home alone is the last place I want to be. I don’t have to work for several more hours, and my mind is just going to go crazy if I give it the opportunity. 

I let Lady lead me and just walk aimlessly until I end up outside of the Hawthornes’ house. Gale answers the door and stares down at me, his face expressionless, before opening the door wider and moving aside, gesturing for me to come in.

He grabs Lady’s collar on her way through and lets her off the leash; she’s as welcome here as I am. “Fancy seeing you here,” he says gruffly to me, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans against the wall of the entryway.

I take a deep breath, my hands fisting at my sides. “Look Gale, I’m sorry about what I said last time I was here.”

His eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline. “What, Katniss, apologizing? I don’t think you’ve ever admitted to being wrong in your life.” His tone is mockingly incredulous and I have to resist the urge to punch him in the face.

I settle for glaring up at him. “I’m not wrong, I’m just sorry I got so mad at you.”

He shakes his head, rolling his eyes, then pushes off from the wall, wandering into the kitchen. I take that as forgiveness and follow him. Neither of us makes any mention of the bicycle.

“So what are you doing here? Don’t you have to work today?”

I nod. “I work at four, but I didn’t want to go home and hang around with my mom today.” I think about telling Gale what I heard Peeta say about Capitol Drive the other day, and about my own freaky experience this morning, but decide against it. That’s between Peeta and me. Gale would just call me crazy.

I don’t know why I feel like Peeta would be understanding where Gale would think I was out of my mind, but for some reason, I do.

Gale nods his understanding, reaching into the fridge to pull out two bottles of Bud, handing one to me before twisting the top off of his.

Turns out Gale is home alone looking after Posy, and somehow we both get roped into sitting on the couch with her, watching some dumb chick flick. Posy sits between us with Lady curled up at her feet, and I know I’m forgiven when Gale shoots me a look over her head at a particularly cheesy line delivered by the guy in the movie and we stifle our laughs together for Posy’s sake.

Midway through the movie, my phone vibrates against my hip and my heart thumps in my chest when I see that it’s Peeta on the line. “Be right back,” I whisper to Gale (Posy doesn’t even look away from the tv) and I slip out of the family room into the kitchen to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Hi Katniss. It’s Peeta.” His voice is warm, and I can hear the smile in his voice when he speaks.

“Hey Peeta,” I answer, and I can’t help my own smile as I lean back against the kitchen counter, crossing my legs at the ankles.

“Sorry about earlier, I was at the hospital, and I wanted to call you then but I thought it might be rude-“

I shake my head, even though he can’t see. “Don’t worry about it, Peeta. How’s Annie doing?”

He sighs. “Not great, but a little better than she was. The doctors and Finnick are hoping that she can go back home soon, but it’ll be a while longer before she can take care of Patrick on her own.”

I hesitate. “Um, give her a hug from me, when you see her next, okay?”

“I will,” he answers warmly. “So, I’m free now, did you want to meet up?” He pauses, then offers, “You could come to my house again, if you wanted.”

My stomach does a weird flip flop, and I find myself wishing that I didn’t have to work tonight. “I can’t, I have to work at four.” I try to ignore the disappointment that rushes through me, force down the sudden unreasonable desire to call in sick and get someone to take my shift so I can go to Peeta’s tonight.

“Oh, that’s okay. Can I come see you at work?”

It’s Saturday and even though Cinna is back from his trip, the bar will no doubt be busy and we’ll need all hands on deck, and logic says that tonight might not be the best night. I _should_ ask him to meet me another time so I can focus on  my job, but instead, I find myself saying, “Sure, I’d like that,” and my heart thumps happily in my chest.

“Great! I’ll come in after dinner. I could use a drink.”

“Okay. I’ll see you tonight?” I’m stalling. For some reason, I don’t want to hang up, want to keep Peeta on the line as long as possible.

“Definitely. Bye, Katniss.”

“Bye Peeta.” I pull the phone away from my ear and hit the end call button, sliding it back into my pocket.

I turn to go back into the living room and find myself face to face with Gale, who is leaning against the doorway between the living room and the kitchen, arms crossed over his chest and a smug look on his face.

“What?” I ask defensively, glaring at him.

“Who was that?” he asks casually, feigning nonchalance as he studies the nails on his left hand.

“Nobody,” I retort, scuffing my foot against the floor awkwardly.

He cocks one eyebrow, dropping his hand and turning his attention to stare at me. “Really, Katniss?  Because I thought I heard you call him Peeta. Isn’t that the cop who’s working on Prim’s case?”

“Maybe. So what?” I ask, scowling across the room at him.

A slow smile spreads across his face. “You like this guy, don’t you?”

I stare defiantly into his eyes, ignoring the flush that rises in my cheeks.  “I do not.”

“Yes, you do!” he looks altogether too triumphant, as if he’s just won a prize, and I want to stride across the room and kick him in the shin, wipe that stupid look off his stupid face. Instead, I ignore him, spinning around under the pretense of getting a glass of water.

“I think it’s great,” he continues as I pull a glass from the cupboard and run the tap, testing it with my finger until it’s cold. “How long has it been since you got laid? Months? _Years_? It might be good for you. Loosen you up a little bit.”

“Shut up, man-whore,” I grumble at the sink, because there’s no way I’m turning around and letting Gale see how red my face is right now.

He laughs and claps me on the shoulder, making me jump; I hadn’t realized he’d come up behind me. “Come back in and watch the rest of the movie once you’ve untwisted your panties. Maybe you can pick up some flirting tips for tonight.” He dodges the swat I aim in his direction, leaving me to chug the glass of water in an attempt to cool myself down.

* * *

As I had thought, the bar is crazy that night. I’m run off my feet, helping out behind the bar, waiting and bussing tables, with barely a moment to stand still, let alone sit down. But even so, I can’t keep myself from glancing up every time the door opens, my heart leaping in my chest, and then dropping disappointedly every time it’s not Peeta coming through the doors.

I’m standing at the bar, waiting for Cinna to pour my drink order (a rum and coke, two Buds and a gin and tonic) when a familiar voice behind me makes me jump.

“Hi Katniss.”

I turn, and look straight into a pair of bright blue eyes, eyes I’d recognize anywhere, even in the dim light of the bar. Even though I’ve been watching the door like a hawk waiting for him to arrive he still managed to surprise me. “Hi Peeta.”

I realize that I’m smiling, and he’s smiling too, his eyes roaming over my face. “How are you?” he asks.

“Good. Really busy tonight. I um,” I feel my face heat and I’m glad for the low lighting that will hide my blush, “I saved you a booth in the back. It’s not a great table, it’s kind of squished in the corner, but at least you’ll have somewhere to sit.”

He grins. “That’s great, Katniss, thank you.”

“Um, sure,” I mutter. “Just let me serve these drinks and I’ll show you to it. Yuengling, right?”

He nods, and I turn back to the bar. “Hey Cinna, grab me a Yuengling, too, please?”

Cinna passes me the drinks for the order I was waiting for, and when I get back from serving them, he winks, reaching back into the fridge for Peeta’s beer. For some reason, Cinna’s wink makes me flush, even though his winks are far from infrequent. When I turn back to Peeta, he’s got a half-smile on his face which, for some reason, makes me blush even more.

“Um, this way,” I mutter, not meeting Peeta’s eyes. He follows close behind me as I push my way through the crowd, a solid presence at my back. I can feel his eyes on me and I fight the not altogether unpleasant shiver that threatens to run down my spine.

We reach the corner and I gesture awkwardly. “This is it,” I say, snatching the ‘Reserved’ placard off of the table. “Sorry, like I said it’s the crappiest booth in the house but it’s really busy and –“

Peeta’s hand on my arm stops me and his touch is like electricity on my skin, and I feel a warmth spread through my lower abdomen at his touch. “It’s great, Katniss, thank you. I’m just happy to have a table I can sit at. Maybe I’ll do some sketching to pass the time.” He draws his notebook from the messenger bag he’s carrying and waves it with a grin as if to demonstrate. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Okay,” I say and he releases my arm, the spot where his hand had rested lingeringly warm. “I, uh,” I glance up at the bar where Cinna is waving at me frantically, “I better get back to work. I’ll try and take a break soon and come talk to you, okay?”

He smiles warmly. “Okay, I’ll be here. Don’t work too hard.”

The hours that follow seem to tick by with agonizing slowness. I find myself glancing at my dad’s watch every few minutes, rushing around the crowded bar and wishing that it would slow down so I can take my break. The whole time, as I run back and forth in the room from table to table and to the bar and back, I’m hyper aware of Peeta’s presence, always wondering if he’s watching me, if he’s bored, if he’s drawing in his sketchpad and if so, what.

As I deposit a tray of drinks at a table of rowdy men from the construction company (“Eighteen fifty, please,” I say), I glance up and see that Peeta is not alone. There’s a woman standing next to the booth, her hands braced on the table-top as she leans in towards him. She’s got the kind of body you see in the Sports Illustrated swimsuit editions, or maybe the Victoria’s Secret ads, and her hair is that kind of ridiculously long, artfully arranged, wavy style that always makes me wonder how it doesn’t get caught in everything, but somehow it looks effortless on her. I think regretfully of my slim hips and practical braid and feel a stab of envy, and I can’t help but notice that she and Peeta match, all beautiful profiles and blonde hair and winning smiles. 

I accept the money for the drinks I’d just delivered, not noticing if there’s a tip in there or if they even gave me enough. Before I can think twice about it, I’m depositing my tray on the bar and grabbing two fresh bottles of Yuengling out of the cooler and shouting to Cinna over the din, “I’m taking my break!” and marching away before he can even open his mouth to reply.

The girl’s working it for everything she’s got, but I feel a fierce satisfaction when I realize that Peeta’s face is polite but aloof. I notice that he’s shoved his sketchbook under his bag, and I wonder if he had stopped before she arrived or if he put it away to keep his sketches private.

“Hi Peeta,” I say brazenly, sliding into the booth next to him. “Sorry for leaving you alone for so long.”

His eyes dart over to me and he grins, flashing those perfect teeth and forcing a spread of warmth through my body. The blond stares at me incredulously, looking down her perfect button nose as if I’m not fit to wipe her ridiculously high heels on.

Peeta looks up at her and says politely, “It was nice talking to you,” and then gives me his full attention, leaning in towards me. It’s a clear dismissal, and my answering smile might be a little smug. _That’s right, bitch. He’s here to see me._

I remember too late that Peeta is not my boyfriend, he’s not my _anything_ , but the girl is already gone and Peeta laughs good naturedly.

“Great timing, Katniss,” he says, taking a swig of the fresh beer I slide in front of him. “Some people just don’t understand when you say ‘I’m waiting for someone’.”

I smile around the mouth of my own beer bottle, raising it to take a sip. “You looked a little like a cornered rabbit,” I say, wiping my lips with the pad of my thumb. His eyes follow the motion, my stomach clenching around a warm heat that’s started to build there.

“C’mon, a rabbit? I’ve got to at least be a puppy or a kitten, something with claws!” He  demonstrates by curling his fingers like talons and mock snarling at me.

I burst out laughing. “Hey, rabbits might be cute and cuddly but they have claws, too. And they bite. Especially when cornered.” I take another swig of my beer.

He cocks one blond eyebrow, his eyes twinkling in the muted light hanging above our heads. “Why Katniss, did you just call me cute and cuddly?” He winks.

I almost choke on my beer and I hope that the darkness in the room hides my flush. I’m sure I look like a beet by now. “I didn’t – I mean, I don’t –“

“It’s okay Katniss, I’m just teasing you.” He laughs in that way that he has, the one where I can tell he’s laughing at himself, and not at anyone else. “So,” he continues, “you had something you wanted to talk to me about today?”

My mind goes blank for a moment and then if possible, my face gets even hotter. I’d totally forgotten the reason that I asked him here in the first place, as if this was some kind of _date_ and not a meeting so I could tell him things that might be relevant to the case. _My missing sister’s_ case. All this time I’d been trying to convince myself that I only wanted to spend time with Peeta because of Prim, because he’s working on her case and for some reason he’s been able to earn my trust. And now, I’m flooded with guilt when I realize that I haven’t thought about Prim or her case all evening; I’ve been too busy thinking about Peeta and watching the clock tick by so that I could sit and talk with him, and not about the case.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I duck my head, unable to meet Peeta’s eyes, hoping desperately that he can’t see my flush of shame. I don’t let myself worry that he might be angry, and just blurt out: “Yes. I uh… I went walking on Capitol Drive today.”

Silence. I chance a glimpse up at Peeta and he’s frozen, eyes wide and staring and locked on my face.

“Peeta?” I ask hesitantly.

He gives his head a little shake and a small smile quirks his lip, but the worry still shows plainly in his eyes. “Sorry. What were you doing on Capitol Drive?”

My stomach flips. “Please don’t be mad okay? I just… I heard you talking when I was at your house the other day and you said something about a murder and Capitol Drive and-” I pause, taking in a deep breath- “I thought I’d check it out myself.”

Peeta’s brow furrows, a little line forming across his forehead. “Katniss, you shouldn’t be going off on your own.” He scrubs his hand through his hair with a sigh. “This is my fault. I shouldn’t have let you overhear that in the first place. And you shouldn’t be going there on your own. If there _is_ some connection there, and I’m not saying there is, you could be putting yourself in danger.”

“I know that, Peeta, alright?” my voice is terse and I know it’s not fair, given that I already know I shouldn’t have been on Capitol Drive today. “I just had to see for myself. Are you going to let me finish the rest of my story?”

He waves his hand, signalling that I should continue, but the tension in his face doesn’t ease. I explain to him about Lady breaking away from me and running into that man’s yard, and what she was digging in.

“A primrose bush, Peeta. A primrose. How did my _dog_ know it was there? It’s too freaky to be coincidence, don’t you think?”

He eyes me doubtfully. “I don’t know, Katniss. It’s weird, sure, but a plant with the same name as your sister isn’t exactly evidence.”

I roll my eyes. “I know that, but Peeta, you weren’t there. This guy gave me the fucking creeps. I can’t explain it, but there was nothing warm about him at all. He smiled, but it was all on the surface.” I hesitate, picking at the label on the beer bottle before forging on in a rush. “Lady hated him, Peeta. _Hated_ him, and Lady doesn’t hate anybody. The last time she acted that weird was the day Prim disappeared.”

I let my eyes flick up to meet Peeta’s and his are kind when he hears the catch in my voice as I stumble over Prim’s name. He stretches a hand across the table, moving slowly like I’m a wild animal he’s trying not to scare off, extending his index finger until it trails along the back of my hand. It’s at once comforting and electrifying, and I feel a shiver building at the base of my neck that has nothing at all to do with cold. He drags his finger back and forth a few times against my skin before letting it drop to the table, and I can’t help my disappointment when he breaks the contact.

“It’s just too much,” I insist around the lump in my throat. “Capitol Drive, primroses, and Lady? How can that be a coincidence, Peeta? How?”

“Where was this?” he asks, skirting my question and slipping into cop-mode, pulling out a small notebook from his jacket pocket. “Do you remember the address? Did you get a name?”

I nod succinctly. “It was 28 Capitol Drive. I got a good look when I was trying to keep Lady from ripping up his yard. And he said his name was Snow.”

Peeta’s whole body tenses as if for a blow, his pen poised above the paper but not descending. “What? What did I say?” I demand. “Is there something about that house? Peeta, _what do you know?_ ”

“No, nothing,” he says hastily, shaking his head, and I see his body relax as he forces calm back into his limbs and scribbles something I can’t see on his little notepad. Finally he looks back up at me and nods. “I can’t promise anything, but I’ll do some digging, alright?” I sigh, feeling the tension drain out of me at his words, but he holds up a hand to stop me before I interrupt him.

“I’ll do some digging,” he repeats, “but promise me that you’ll stay away from that man and Capitol Drive in the meantime, okay?”

My eyes narrow as I glare at him across the table, feeling my face flush again, but with anger this time. “Why, because you think I can’t take care of myself?” I spit at him. “You think I’m in the way, like all the other officers do?”

He shakes his head, reaching out a hand to placate me. This time his entire hand falls over mine and I jump before my fingers settle beneath his. In spite of my anger, I feel warmth radiating through Peeta’s hand into mine, spreading through my body and settling low in the pit of my stomach as his eyes meet mine. 

“Katniss, you know I don’t think that at all,” he says, his voice low. “You’re tougher than anyone else I know. I just want you to be careful, okay? Give me a chance to look into this and do things the proper way.”

His thumb skates over my knuckles and my traitor heart jumps in my chest. I’m forcefully reminded of our _almost_ kiss from Sunday night, when I was sure he was going to kiss me and I was sure I wanted him to. My eyes drop to his lips in time to see his tongue slide out to moisten them, and the heat in my belly swells. My body is leaning into him behind the table and he’s leaning towards me and his hand tightens over mine -

“Katniss!”

We both jump, startled by Cinna’s voice. He’s making his way across the room to us, and he stops when he sees how we’re angled towards each other, how our hands are overlapping on the tabletop. A wicked grin bursts on to his lips as he continues his approach and I hurriedly withdraw my hand from under Peeta’s, tucking it securely under the table with its mate.

“Sorry if I’m interrupting,” Cinna drawls, casting me a sidelong glance, eyes twinkling deviously. “But break’s over, honey. We’re swamped here and we need your help.”

I grab ahold of the out Cinna offers, even though really, an out is the last thing I want. What I want is for Peeta to kiss me, and the depth of that realization frightens me, so I run.

“Thanks for coming, Peeta,” I say, unable to meet his eyes as I swipe our empty bottles up, already moving to follow Cinna back to the bar. “Sorry I have to leave.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he answers, but I think I hear a note of regret in his voice. He stands too.

“Oh, don’t think you have to leave just because I’m going back to work,” I protest. “Stay and have another beer.”

He catches my hand in his and I look up to meet his gaze. His lip twitches. “Nah, it’s okay, I’ve had enough for tonight, and I’ve held the table for too long.” He presses a bill into my hand, ignoring my protests. “Besides,” he adds, “if I stay here while you’re busy working, who’s going to protect my poor helpless bunny rabbit self from unwanted advances?”

A huff of laughter escapes me before I can stop it, and I feel the rest of it bubbling inside my chest, threatening to burst. “I’ll see you soon?” I ask without meaning to.

Peeta squeezes my hand and smiles, before dropping it and turning away from me towards the exit. “Count on it.”

When I make it back to the bar, Cinna is watching me from under his gold lined eyelids, a smug smile on his face. I snatch up a rag and a tray, ignoring Cinna’s pointed stare until I can’t anymore and I turn to him and bark “What?”

If possible, he grins even wider. “Girl, you are so far gone on that boy.”

“Shut up Cinna,” I grumble, turning away from him to hide my blush, and for the first time, I can’t even pretend to deny it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the delay in posting for this chapter but I hope it was worth the wait! Thank you so much for reading, commenting, bookmarking and leaving kudos! We read and appreciate every single review. 
> 
> I want to say a special thank-you on behalf of myself and my co-authors to sunfishdunes, our beta for the first eleven chapters of this work. Unfortunately she is unable to continue as our beta going forward but we are all so grateful for her hard work and want to thank her profusely for all the time and care she spent on this really daunting project. I speak for all of us when I say thank you SO MUCH, sunfish! It was wonderful working with you.
> 
> I also want to thank jennagill who stepped up to fill sunfishdunes' big beta shoes for this chapter and the ones to follow. You're awesome and we're all really looking forward to working with you as our beta.
> 
> And last but most certainly not least, thanks as always to desertginger for her pre-reader expertise!
> 
> Come say hi to us on tumblr; I'm madefrommemoriesff and my co-authors are soamazinghere and loveforpanem.


	13. Primrose

 

 

 

 

Chapter 13: Primrose

* * *

 

She didn't know it, but she wasn't alone when it happened.

The late afternoon sun outside was shining, cold and bright, as she squinted through the windows lining the front of the bookstore. But as beautiful as the day was, hardly anyone ventured out onto the street. The small shop - her mother’s - had been virtually deserted all day. It was absolutely frigid outside, even for February in the Appalachians, and that meant that almost anyone who could stay home today had chosen to do so.

She sighed and made another slow lap around the shop, silently resenting her mother for forcing her to work in the store on this boring Saturday. The excuse today was  _yet another_  headache. Come to think of it, that was pretty much always her mother’s excuse for staying home.  

Usually her father came home on the weekends, at least. He spent his weekdays at his office in Washington - he was very serious about his job representing the people of West Virginia in Congress - but on the weekends he came back to his home district, to his family, and to the big, comfortable house that the three of them shared.

But not this weekend. Some kind of budget crisis, he said. She wouldn’t see him again for another week, at least.

She swept the loose strands of blonde hair out of her eyes as she crouched down to the floor, looking for a magazine to flip through to help her pass the time and alleviate her boredom.  It was nearing the end of the day and she just needed to make it through one more hour.

She’d nearly finished her issue of Yoga Journal when the jingling of the bell over the front door caught her attention. On instinct, she smiled in greeting as she met the eyes of the elderly man who’d just entered the shop. Upon noticing her, he paused briefly, giving her an appraising look before slowly returning her smile. She shivered from the cold air that came in when he’d opened the door.

He wandered the shop for what seemed like a long time; it was long enough to make her nervous, anyway. Honestly, she hated being alone with customers. She was quiet by nature and disliked the pressure she felt to make friendly conversation. Her father, ever the politician, could chat easily with anyone. But she hadn’t inherited those traits from him.

As the white-haired man roamed through the shelves, seeming to look for nothing in particular, he attempted to engage her in conversation and was undeterred by her shy, monosyllabic answers.  It was a relief, to say the least, when he finally approached the cash register with a book about exotic plants, carefully counted out the cash to pay for it, and retreated out the front door.

Glancing at the clock on the wall behind her, she made note of the time and eagerly began preparing to close the bookstore for the evening.  She didn’t finish everything she needed to do - she had plans with her boyfriend later that evening, and she wanted to get home to get ready - but she reasoned that she’d likely be back at the shop again tomorrow morning, covering another shift for her mother. Pulling out her phone, she set a reminder to come in early to finish up.

The cold air felt almost painful as she exited the shop and locked the door behind her. She burrowed her head down into her scarf, looking at the ground as she hurried to her car. But a shout from across the parking lot stopped her before she got there. It was the old man, the one who’d just left the shop minutes earlier.

He looked sheepish and embarrassed as he explained that he’d dropped his glasses and wouldn’t be able to drive home without them. He thought they’d bounced under the car, but he couldn’t get down on the ground to look for them. Bad knees, he said.

She tried to help, bending down to look underneath his SUV, struggling to see in the fading light. She heard a car door open, then close; she was about to stand up and move to the other side of the vehicle to continue looking when a heavy blow to the back of her head knocked her to the pavement. She groped blindly, trying in vain to struggle to her hands and knees, not even able to begin to process what had happened, when a second, harder blow knocked her unconscious.

Minutes, or maybe hours later - she had no idea of the time, all she knew was that it was pitch black outside - she slowly woke up inside an unfamiliar car. Her head was throbbing in pain. She let out an involuntary moan, alerting the driver to the fact that she was awake. A voice, one that sounded vaguely familiar, told her that she was hurt, that she shouldn’t move.

Still, she tried to sit up, but two things stopped her. The first was an overwhelming bout of dizziness.

The second was the fact that her hands and feet were tied to each other.

The voice continued, but she was in so much pain that she could barely pay attention. She only had enough energy to focus on one task, and at the moment, she was attempting to drag herself to a sitting position. Or as close as she could come to a sitting position, given her bindings. She was able to raise her head nearly level with the window, but nothing she could see outside the car looked familiar. Trees. Barren fields. They’d left Wheeling, that much was certain.

She asked him questions, but she has no memory of what she said. All she knows is that the answers confirmed for her that he wasn’t trying to help her, wasn’t taking her home, or to the hospital, or wherever he initially claimed to be going. She knew she had to fight if she wanted to get out of this, if she ever wanted to see her family again.

But between the dizziness, the intense pain in her head, and the bindings on her wrists and ankles, she didn’t stand a chance. She couldn’t reach him, even though she was lying across the seat just behind him. She thrashed. She kicked. She yelled and screamed.

It didn’t matter.

He reached blindly behind him as she struggled,  and she fought to keep her balance as the car swerved back and forth. Eventually, inevitably, his hand found her. He grasped onto her necklace, the one her father had bought her for her sixteenth birthday: a strawberry charm made out of tiny rubies. The man pulled, with more strength than seemed possible. He didn’t let go.

Mercifully, that was the last thing she remembered.

__________

 Madge Undersee was not alone when she died, just like I wasn’t alone when I died. Neither of us knew it at the time, but someone was watching. Say what you will about the people who run heaven (or whatever this place is), but they make sure that no death goes unwitnessed, and no one dies alone.

People like Effie bear the burden of witnessing these horrors, over and over again. They can’t change what happens, they can’t make it any less painful, and they can’t hold the murderer accountable for his actions. But it’s a comfort - at least, it was for me - to simply know that  _someone knows_  what happened. I didn’t have to explain anything.

Learning of Madge’s existence - how she died, who killed her - was confirmation for me of something that I’d suspected for a long time: that I was just one of Snow’s many victims.

Anyone would’ve guessed that Snow had killed before, especially if they saw how expertly he handled my body and cleaned up after he killed me. He knew exactly what to do to avoid getting caught. And obviously, he did a really good job of it.

But in the years I’d spent wondering about Snow, prior to meeting Madge, I never did anything to confirm my suspicions about him. I wasn’t even sure what I  _could_ do. Walk up to other girls my age and ask them how they died? Even though all of us here are painfully aware of our own mortality, our deaths are not necessarily subjects we want to raise with just any random person on the street. Effie says it’s not polite to discuss in mixed company.

I kept my curiosity to myself over the years, and with time, it just...faded. Without any way to learn more, I simply pushed it to the back of my mind and focused on what really mattered. Like Katniss, and Mom, and helping them get better. Even though I never actually succeeded in doing that. 

All that changed, though, when Effie unceremoniously informed me one day that I’d be meeting another of - and these were her exact words - “Snow’s girls.” I probably should’ve been offended that she called me that, but...it’s Effie. I know she means well, and it’s impossible for me to get mad at her.

Once Effie told me, though, that I could actually meet another girl who’d been through  _exactly_  what I had - a victim of the same man - my curiosity came flooding back, along with a host of other emotions. Nervousness. Dread. Worry about expectations that I’d never be able to meet.

But an overwhelming desire to meet her, and share something with her, trumped them all. In the end, I met Madge Undersee without any hesitation. 

Back on Earth, I feel pretty confident in saying that Madge and I would never have met. We would never have even had the opportunity to be friends, but here...well, here we feel a strange kinship to each other, like we’re both members of some kind of horrible club that we never wanted to join.

She’s the only  person with whom I’ve shared all the details that I remember about my death, just as she shared hers with me. I don’t really know if I wanted to say the words and in a way relive what happened, but somehow I felt like I  _had_ to.  Like, this was my one opportunity to share with someone who could really understand, and that I’d regret it if I didn’t take it. I have to admit that I find myself oddly both drawn to and repelled by her, like I can’t decide whether I crave the presence of another person who can really understand my experiences, or whether her existence here is simply a painful reminder of what happened to me. 

And a reminder of the fact that my murderer is still out there, free, alive, and killing others.

Before I died, I would’ve found it strange to think that someone like Madge Undersee and I could have met the same end. Our lives, and the worlds that we grew up in, were so different that I would never have imagined it. Surely a person like Madge, growing up with wealth and seemingly every advantage, couldn’t end up as a random murder victim.

Now that I’m here, of course, I realize exactly how wrong I was. Chalk it up to me being young and innocent, I guess. Death is a great equalizer. Anyone can die for any reason. It doesn’t always make sense.

__________

I’m heading home from the lake one day when I hear it, faintly: the muffled sound of someone crying. I’m pretty sure I know who it is.

Leaving the trail, I pick my way as carefully and quietly as I can through the brush,  trying not to scare her off before I reach her. I’m close - I can see her huddled on a log, her blonde hair falling in her face - when I step on a twig and it breaks loudly. Madge’s head jerks up and she abruptly rises to leave.

My sister was always so much better at making her way quietly through the forest than I ever will be. 

I call out, “Wait, Madge!”

Her back is turned towards me, but I can see her trying to smooth her hair and wipe the tears from her cheeks. She coughs and sniffles a few times before turning slowly around to face me. “Hi Prim,” she greets me unenthusiastically.

“Hi,” I respond quietly as I move closer. “Are you okay?”

She lets out brief snort of laughter and looks away from me, eyes still bright with tears. She swallows before meeting my gaze again. “I’m fine,” she says finally. “A little embarrassed that you’re finding me like this. Again.”

I shift awkwardly on my feet, rubbing the toe of my boot in the dirt.  Madge and I know a lot about each other, but we don’t really  _know_  each other that well, if that makes any sense. I’d like to give her a hug right now, but I’m not sure she’d appreciate that. I guess it wouldn’t be any reassurance anyway.

The other time that I accidentally stumbled across Madge like this was several weeks ago when I was making my way to Effie’s rowhouse for a visit. I came across Madge leaning against the wall of an alley that I often use as a shortcut. She wasn’t crying, but she was very clearly struggling to keep herself together.

I convinced her to come with me to Effie’s - it turned out that she’d been heading there anyway -  and that’s where she finally broke down and told us everything. She was watching her family fall apart back home. Her mom and dad were barely speaking to each other; in fact, they were hardly ever in the same state anymore.

Her dad was pouring his grief into his job, spending most of his time in Washington, unable to bear facing the house where his daughter had grown up. Her mother, on the other hand, would barely  _leave_  the house. She’d closed her bookstore, permanently, most likely; Madge was pretty sure she’d never open it again. Her mom had suffered from migraines for years, but now they were completely debilitating. She had no other children to take care of, so she rarely left her bed. For a prominent politician’s wife, it was amazing how thoroughly she could isolate herself. 

I’m not sure what’s happened since that day at Effie’s, though. Right now I decide not to press Madge any further to discuss her problems, and just focus on trying to get her to leave the woods with me. “Um. Do you want to come back to my house? We could,” I bite my lip and look up at the sky, thinking, “have some hot chocolate?”

Madge just shrugs and stares at the ground. But she doesn’t say no.

“Come on, “ I urge, touching her arm briefly to get her to follow me. Thankfully, she does.

We walk in silence, with her following closely behind me, as we make our way carefully along the dirt path. For now, the trees are still mostly bare, but I can see the tiny green buds of new growth popping out on the branches. Before long, the forest will be alive and full of sounds again.  I look forward to that - the grey, bare winter always depresses me.

I’m so lost in my own thoughts that I jump when Madge begins speaking. “How do you…” she starts, and then trails off with a deep sigh.

“Do I what?” I respond, continuing to walk until I notice that the sound of her footsteps has stopped. I turn around and see her standing in the middle of the path behind me, pressing her hands over her eyes.

After a moment, she pulls her hands away and fixes her gaze on a spot somewhere over my shoulder. Struggling to keep her composure, she says, “I just don’t understand...how do you  _bear it_? How do you watch your family fall apart and do nothing?”

I take a few careful steps in her direction. I don’t take her words as an accusation - she’s not implying that I don’t care about my mom and Katniss - she just doesn’t know how to cope with her own situation.  I wish I had better answers for her.

“It’s never going to be easy,” I admit.  “My family never really got back to the way they were...before.”  I try my best to keep the resigned tone from being too evident in my voice. I don’t want her to lose hope, but I don’t want her to tell her something that’s not true either. Some families recover. Mine hasn’t. Hers might not either.

She bites her lip and turns her head, trying to shield her face from me, but I don’t miss the tear that slips down her cheek. After a long pause, she breathes deeply and speaks to me with her eyes closed, like she can’t bear to look. “How do you stay strong?”

I want to laugh at her words, but I keep that to myself. I know that I’m not strong. Seeing my mother fall apart, seeing Katniss give up every good thing in her life so that she can hang onto some slim hope that she’ll find and avenge me….these things have taken their toll. But what other choice do I have but to find a way to cope? There’s literally nowhere else for me to go but  _right here_. There are no longer any choices I can make that matter.

Madge will figure this out someday, too. 

I don’t give her any false reassurances about things getting better. But I don’t tell her about my weaknesses either - the fact that I keep watch over not just my family, but the police investigating my murder as well. The fact that I’ve spent years trying to send messages to people back home.  The fact that, since I died, I’ve done nothing but hurt people back on Earth.   

I’m not strong. I haven’t let go of a thing.

Instead, I tell her, “It’s complicated.” Because it is.

I grab her hand in mine and weave our fingers together. Maybe that was the right thing to do, because she doesn't pull away.

__________

 Madge and I settle onto my back porch, tucked under warm blankets and drinking our hot chocolate. We talk about our families. I tell her more about my mom and Katniss. Lady. My dad.  I tell her about what I’ve seen since my death. I know it can’t help her, but maybe it can make her feel less alone.

Our conversation eventually takes a turn as Madge begins heatedly recounting her anger about her death, most of which is directed at Snow.  This isn’t a particularly healthy topic of conversation, but honestly the only reason I know that is because of all the hours I spent ranting in exactly the same way as she’s doing right now. I never completely let my anger go, but I learned it was better not to talk about it too much. It could very easily become the center of your life. (If “life” is the right word for what we have here.)

But I don’t even have to try to change the topic of conversation; Madge stops herself mid-sentence when she hears my front door slam open, sighing wearily when she hears Johanna’s voice call out, “Anyone home?”

Madge and Johanna are not best friends, to put it mildly. Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating a bit. They don’t  _hate_  each other; I honestly don’t think Johanna cares enough about anyone else to hate them. But Jo doesn’t have much patience. For anything, really...but especially not for people who get hung up on how they died, and why they ended up here. Sometimes I think the only reason she and I get along so well is that we both got here at the same time, before she had time to form these opinions.

But Madge is a newbie - at least compared to the two of us -  and she’s still processing what happened to her...so, yes, she has what Johanna considers an “attitude.” In the past, Jo hasn’t been afraid to tell her very bluntly that she needs to “get over” what happened and accept that she’s here now, for good. And I know that Jo’s right, but I wish she’d have a little bit more understanding of Madge’s situation. Give her a month or two to adjust, maybe.

What’s ended up happening is that Madge is intimidated; now she usually clams up when Jo’s around and tries to just...fade into the background.  

Jo quickly makes her way through the house and onto the porch; I’m not sure how, but somehow she always knows exactly where to find me. “Hello, ladies,” she greets us.

“Hey, Jo,” I respond. Madge just gives a weak smile.

Johanna looks between the two of us and raises her eyebrows. “Am I interrupting something?” she asks.

“No…” I say hesitantly, glancing at Madge. I don’t want her to feel that she has to stop talking, but I have a feeling that she won’t be comfortable continuing in front of Jo.

So, I’m more than a little surprised when Madge lifts her chin and meets Jo’s gaze. “I was just, you know, doing my normal complaining,” she explains in a tone I would almost call sarcastic. “About how  _unfair_  it all is.”

I look at Madge in confusion. What’s she doing? I’m perplexed and worried, but for her part, Johanna seems unfazed. As she flops down into a chair next to Madge, she says, “Yep, it’s not fair. For any of us.”

“Maybe more for some of us than others,” Madge mutters, quietly enough that I can barely hear her.  But - I think - deliberately loud enough to reach Jo’s ears.

“What did you say?” Jo asks disbelievingly.

Madge sits silently for a few moments, staring at her hands in her lap. Finally, she responds flatly, “You heard me.”

Johanna turns to face her, a look of annoyance crossing her features. “Look, I get that you’re still feeling down about all this, but really, it’s the same for all of - ”

Madge cuts her off angrily. “No, it isn’t! I was  _murdered_  - how could you possibly understand how unfair it is?”

Jo narrows her eyes and replies coldly, “What do you know about how I died?”

Nothing. The answer is nothing. Neither of us really know much of anything about how Johanna died. I only know the few incomplete details she’s shared with me. And Madge knows even less than I do - everything she’s saying is purely assumption. She’s just sad and angry; it really has nothing to do with Johanna.

I desperately want the two of them to drop this argument, or whatever it is. I don’t like where this is heading; it almost seems like Madge is baiting Jo into a fight, and Jo, of course, is going for it. I attempt to intervene, saying nervously, “Hey, you two, can we just - ”

But Madge interrupts me before I even complete my thought. She’s  _angry,_  but I don’t understand why it’s all coming out now, or why it’s directed at Johanna; maybe she’d been holding it inside for too long. “It doesn’t matter!” she says, ignoring me. “I’m stuck here watching my entire family fall apart. There’s absolutely nothing I can do. And all you ever do is tell me how childish I’m acting, how I need to ‘get over it already,’” she pauses here, her eyes welling with tears. “But...but I just think you have no idea. I  _don’t know how_  to let it go, do you get that? It’s not as easy as you seem to think it is.”

For a few long, uncomfortable moments, we all sit in silence. I want to say something to Madge, maybe help calm her down, but she seems so agitated that I’m almost afraid to do anything. She just stares out at the meadow, breathing heavily, almost like she’s waiting for Jo to fight back. Madge isn’t crying, though; she’s doing her best to keep herself together.

Johanna, on the other hand, seems strangely thoughtful. And uncharacteristically quiet. She’d been sitting next to Madge throughout most of their confrontation, but now she slowly rises and takes a few steps away from us.

I can only take the silence for so long. Soon, I clear my throat and try to think of something to say, but Johanna stops me with a shake of her head. She glances at me quickly and swallows before turning away and starting to speak.

 “Remember how I said that everyone back home thinks I killed myself?” she begins. I’m the only one who actually knows this; she’s never shared this with Madge as far as I know. I nod silently before remembering that she’s not even looking at me, but it’s fine, because she’s clearly not waiting for a response.

 “It was my stepdad...my own fucking stepdad,” she says through gritted teeth, bitterness evident in her voice. “Without going into all the  _boring_ details, he killed me and made it look like a suicide.”

 I clap my hand over my mouth involuntarily, almost gasping. My next words slip out with thinking. “But...why?”

She just shakes her head, still looking away. “It doesn’t matter, does it? We’re all here now.” Finally, she turns her head towards me and raises her eyebrows. She leans against the porch railing behind her and looks directly at Madge, almost challenging her. “My point is, I do have the whole ‘murder’ thing in common with you. I’m just not in the Snow club.”

Madge, who I’m pretty sure was stunned into silence at Johanna’s admission, opens her mouth and looks like she’s struggling to think of something to say. I can’t tell if she’s planning to apologize or explode again; the look on her face is just...surprised.

But Jo stops her before she can say anything. “I’m not finished,“ she says. “You want to talk about families falling apart? I spent most of my childhood trying to protect my sisters from their dad, my stepdad. But once I was gone? He told them how selfish I was to leave, and how I abandoned them, and how I must not have loved them. And they were so young, they believed it.”

Johanna’s voice cracks at these last words, and she closes her eyes tightly. She continues without opening them. “So I know what  _unfair_  is. It’s  _unfair_  that I can’t protect my sisters anymore, and it’s  _unfair_  that their memories of me were poisoned by their piece of shit father.”

She turns her back to us abruptly, looking out at the meadow as Madge and I sit silently, wondering if she has more to say. After a few moments, Jo turns around to face us, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. “So, Madge, maybe I do understand your situation better than you think. And you know what else? If you run across anyone who’s ended up here at our age,” she says, gesturing between the three of us, “you can bet that, whatever happened to them, it wasn’t  _fair_.”

I bite my lip and stare at my hands, casting surreptitious glances between Johanna and Madge. Neither of their faces make it obvious how they’re feeling right now; I can only guess. I just wish one of them would say  _something_. I feel like this isn’t my fight, but it’s still making me nervous.

After a couple of minutes, Jo sighs and shakes her head as she turns to Madge. “Listen, I’m sorry if I made you feel bad. I don’t regret saying it, but…” she trails off, looking frustrated with herself. “I’m bad at apologies. Let’s just say, I’ll drop it if you will.”

At those words, I think I see Madge crack a tiny smile, but it fades almost as quickly as it came. “I’m sorry too. I didn’t realize,” she says softly.

“Why would you have?” Johanna responds immediately, shrugging.

Madge and I glance at each other guiltily, unsure of where to go from here. I want to say more to Johanna, to...I’m not even sure, offer her sympathy?  Tell her that I kind of, sort of understand what she went through? The thing is, though, she‘s known that all along. It was only me who wasn’t aware. If she wanted sympathy, she could’ve come to me anytime.

Johanna breaks me out of my thoughts. “We‘re such a fucked up group,” she says. “Bonding over our shared experience of being murdered.” She laughs at this as if it’s the funniest thing she’s heard all day.

I don’t think it’s funny, though. Johanna was absolutely right when she pointed out how unfair it is that the three of us are even here.  And as much as I‘ve enjoyed getting know to Jo  - and Madge -  I’d gladly give up their friendship if it meant that our “shared experiences” had never happened at all.

__________

My eyes rip open and I gasp, clutching wildly around me, expecting to find nothing to grab onto except for a cold, concrete basement floor. I can feel a scream welling up in my throat, but when my hands grasp something soft -  _my bedsheets, I realize_  - I relax. There’s nothing to scream about. I’m home.

If I were alive, my heart would probably be beating out of my chest right now.  But I try to remind myself that I’m safe - after all, I’m already dead; nothing can really hurt me now.  It’s just a nightmare, an occurrence that’s become all too commonplace recently. I lie back down in my bed, pulling the sheets tightly around me and taking a few slow, deep breaths.

Ever since Madge arrived here - ever since I first told her my own experience with Snow - I’ve been finding it increasingly difficult to keep my old memories at bay.  I find myself reliving my death in vivid detail in my dreams.

The nightmares don’t come every night, but they come often. Still, the last few days had been surprisingly peaceful, and I was just starting to remember what a full night’s sleep feels like.  But learning about Johanna’s death earlier today - even though I’m glad she finally told me what happened to her - left me feeling particularly agitated. So I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised that they returned in full force this evening.

The nightmares themselves are nothing new; I’ve had them as long as I’ve been here. I have to admit that I’ve wondered before why dead people even have nightmares, but Effie’s never been able to provide me with a satisfactory explanation. I’m not even sure she believed me when I told her I was having them. She just told me they can happen “under rare circumstances,” which she never explained.

My nightmares have always centered on my death, usually with fuzzy details. Mostly, it was just a series of strong emotions: dread, fear, disbelief. And I always woke up before I relived the truly upsetting parts.  But that’s changed recently. Now I see everything. I feel everything. And I’m paralyzed until the entire scene replays itself. I’m forced to watch - forced to take part - until it’s over. Until I lie dying on that basement floor.

 And there are new details too, things that shouldn’t be there. Sometimes I dream about running, all the way from Snow’s house to here, to the meadow I used to visit when I was little. To this meadow, that doesn’t exist on Earth any longer, and hasn’t for years.

I’ve seen people watching me as I died, spectators unwilling or unable to help. The spectators seem just as paralyzed as I feel, like they know there’s nothing they can do to stop or change what’s happening. Sometimes I‘m horrified to see my sister’s face there. Recently a blonde-haired figure reminded me of Peeta. I don’t want them to see what happened, but nothing I say can make them look away.

My only relief comes when I wake up and tell myself that it’s not real.

That’s what I’m doing right now, and that’s what I plan to keep doing until the nightmares finally go away...for good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the long delay in between chapter postings! We're all agreed that we're going to try to move faster in the future.
> 
> I'd like to thank our beta, jennagill, and our pre-reader, desertginger, for their feedback on this chapter. We couldn't do it without you wonderful ladies.
> 
> Come find me and my lovely, talented co-authors on tumblr to say hi: we are loveforpanem, madefrommemoriesff, and soamazinghere.
> 
> Next up: Katniss! And a chapter you are certain to love. :)


	14. Katniss

Chapter 14: Katniss

* * *

 I'm in the meadow where Prim and I used to play when we were younger, under Dad's watchful eye. Only this time, Dad's not here, and I'm running. I'm running as fast as my legs will carry me, chasing after my sister. Prim is running too, her fine blond hair streaming out behind her. A flash of pink flickers past me, and I look back over my shoulder to see the ribbon that had held her hair back from her face dancing in the wind.

"Prim!" I yell her name, reaching a feeble hand towards her, but she doesn't hear me, doesn't even look back. And no matter how fast I run, I can't reach her, can't make her stop, can't protect her.

Then something catches hold of me and tugs me backwards and I scream as the ground falls away beneath me. I see a flash of something shiny and silver, and then all I know is pain and fear and blood.

So much blood.

I wake up to the sound of my own scream, shooting bolt upright in bed. My lashes are blurred with tears and cold sweat trickles down the small of my back, making me shiver.

The nightmare felt so real that this - the sweat soaked sheets beneath me, the blanket pooling around my hips, the warm weight of Lady at my side - feels like the dream. I can still feel my feet pounding on the ground, can still remember the pain that lanced through me, the trickling wetness of blood running down my abdomen. I want to close my eyes but I'm afraid of what I might see, so I stare straight ahead and recite my list to remind myself of what's real.

_My name is Katniss Everdeen. I am twenty four years old. I live on Seam Street in the town of Panem. Prim disappeared nearly six years ago and is believed to be dead. Detective Peeta Mellark is working on her case. He thinks he can find her. I hope he can find her..._

By the end of the list, my breathing is returning to normal, my pulse slowing so that it is no longer a deafening pounding in my ears. Lady whines at my hip and I reach out a hand to absently stroke the velvety fur of her ears.

"It was just a dream," I whisper to her. "Just a dream."

The clock on my nightstand reads 6:25 am. I feel weary, as if I was actually running, rather than just in my nightmare. I wish I could go back to sleep, even for just a few hours, but I know it will be impossible. I drag myself out of bed, my limbs sluggish as I dress and braid my hair.

Lady follows me down the stairs, her nose bumping into the back of my calf on the way down. Even she's not accustomed to my slow pace this morning. She goes immediately to the back door and sits patiently, her big brown eyes looking pleadingly up at me.

"Alright, alright." I roll my eyes. "No need to break out the puppy face." She runs out into the yard as soon as I open the door, enthusiastic as a child, and I wonder at her excitement. Usually she's pretty quick, running right back in to take her place back at my side after she's done her business, but today she seems content to stay outside. Maybe it's the smell and sounds of spring, of the world awakening around us. I wouldn't blame her for that; I love those things too.

I eat a simple breakfast of Life cereal, using up the last of the milk in the process, and making a mental note to go to the grocery store tomorrow. It's too early for Mom to be up, so the house is silent, the only sound the crunch of my cereal, the scrape of my spoon against the bowl, and the tick of the clock on the wall. Lady seems to be happy outside so I go about my day, letting her enjoy the spring air while I sort laundry.

I manage to make a big dent in the heaps of laundry that have been accumulating for weeks before a glance at the clock tells me it's time for Lady's walk. I can feel the weariness from my restless sleep settling in my bones, and for once, I wish I could just skip it, but I don't. I owe that dog so much; the least I can do is walk her once a day.

"Lady! Wanna go for a walk?" I call out the backdoor, propping it open with my foot while I pull a hoodie over my head. I wait, but she doesn't come. "Lady!" I call again, peering around the side of the house.

Silence. No happy bark, no panting breath, no patter of big paws on the thawing ground. A chill of something akin to fear runs through me, and I run out into the yard in my socks.

It's empty. Lady is nowhere to be seen. And there, at the base of the fence, is a black spray of overturned earth and a hole, just the right size for a dog Lady's size to pass through.

Lady is gone.

* * *

I spend the rest of the morning and early afternoon driving around in Dad's truck with the windows rolled down, heedless of the chilly spring air, yelling Lady's name out the window and ignoring the looks that the people I pass on the street shoot my way.

I text Peeta and Gale, and they're both at work but promise to help me as soon as they're done. Mom even gets up to help when I come back home to check and see if Lady's miraculously found her way home. She walks around the neighborhood while I drive, but neither of us are successful.

When it becomes clear that I'm not going to find Lady in time to make it to my shift at the Hob, I call Cinna. I hate missing work, and I feel a twinge of regret for the tips I'm going to miss but there's no way I'm going to be able to work when my dog is missing, wandered off or stolen or - god forbid - dead in a ditch somewhere. He's too understanding, and I tell him that I'll cover two of his shifts to make up for this one. He brushes me off, but I'll do it anyway. I pay my debts.

It's almost four and Peeta and Gale will both be getting off work soon so I drive around until I find my mother and take us both home. I'm wound tight, and embarrassingly, I feel tears prickling at the corners of my eyes as I stare out the windshield, refusing to meet her gaze. I have to find Lady. I have to.

Mom insists I eat something, and since when does she take care of _me_ like a mother is supposed to? She fixes some toast, so it's not exactly a gourmet meal, but I'm so astonished that she bothered to be a mother for the first time in six years that I actually eat it, sitting on the edge of my seat, my body tense with the need for action.

The doorbell rings and I move too quickly to open it, dropping the unfinished toast on my plate. Gale would just walk right in, so it must be Peeta, and even over my fear for Lady, I register a thrill of excitement in the pit of my stomach. I wrench the door open, and the smile dies on my face when I see the man on my doorstep. Because it's not Peeta.

It's Mr. Snow.

I'm frozen, staring into his cold, blue eyes, chilled by his empty smile, when a warm weight crashes into my ankles. I stumble back, and my eyes drop to the floor where a familiar brown and black form is pressing into me.

"Lady!"

Forgetting my fear, I crouch down, wrapping my arms around her wiggling form. She's frantic, distressed, and she whines, pawing at my leg. I know she'd be licking me frantically if her mouth wasn't bound cruelly shut with a length of yellow rope that loops around her muzzle, crossing underneath her jaw to knot behind her head.

"What did you do to her?" I cry angrily, tugging at the rope. It's no use; it's bound tight, expertly knotted. Poor Lady paws at the loop over her muzzle with a pitiful whine.

Snow stares down at me, one white eyebrow flicking up towards his hairline. "She turned up in my yard and began desecrating my flowers again. You want to be more careful with your animals, Ms. Everdeen."

His voice sends a chill running down my spine. I rip the makeshift leash from his hand and shove Lady behind me into the house, straightening up to meet his cold gaze. "Thank you for bringing her home," I say stiffly. "Sorry about your flowers. I can pay -"

"That won't be necessary." He inclines his head in acknowledgement, a small smile playing on his lips that doesn't reach his eyes. "Just keep her in check. We wouldn't want anything unsavory to happen to her while she's running loose around town." His eyes hold mine for a moment, a silent warning, and then he turns without another word, moving to the dark SUV parked at the curb.

My hands are still shaking when I slam the door behind him and drop to my knees beside Lady. "Oh baby, what did he do to you?" I whisper, struggling to still my fingers enough to get the rope loose.

Finally it comes free and I pull it off her head, chucking it across the room to get it as far away from us as possible. I ease my thumbs over the indentation in her fur left by the rope over her nose, and she leans into me, her tongue darting out to lick my cheek now that she's free.

"Don't ever do that again, you stupid dog!" I yell absurdly, as if she can understand me, knotting my fingers into the slightly longer fur around her neck as I hug her to me. "What were you doing there, Lady?" She blinks up at me solemnly and I wish - not for the first time - that she could talk. I wish she could tell me why she dug out in the first place, something she's never done before, and why she went to Mr. Snow's house, of all places. What is it about his flowers that draws her? Why did she run all the way across town just to dig there? I remember his primroses and her obsession with them and the thought has me terrified, my heart pounding in my chest. I'm shivering despite the warmth of Lady's body, chilled by the unexpected appearance of that terrifying man on my doorstep, and what it could mean.

"Who was at the door?"

I look up to see my mom in the doorway to the kitchen. "Nobody," I say automatically. "Just some rich guy from Capitol Drive who found her."

Mom comes over to me, kneeling beside me to wrap her arms around Lady as well. "Good dog," she says absently, and suddenly I want to scream at her because _good dog_? The dog burrowed under the fence, something she's never done before, and ran off just to dig in some guy's flower bed, and she could have gotten hit by a car or gotten lost or worse. I'm happy she's home, so happy I could cry, but she's not a good dog.

"I'm taking Lady out," I say gruffly, standing abruptly and grabbing her leash from the hook by the door. "Can you call Hazelle and let her and Gale know that we can call off the search?"

Mom's brow furrows, but she nods. "Where are you going?"

I hadn't given any thought to where I'm going; I just need to go. It's early enough that I could still finish up my shift at the bar but I'm too keyed up, freaked out by the unexpected appearance of Snow on my doorstep. "A friend's house," I say curtly. "Don't forget to eat dinner." I clip Lady's leash to her collar and I'm out the door before my mother can reply.

I text Peeta from the truck. _**Lady's back. We're coming over.**_ I don't wait for his reply, putting the truck in gear and back onto the street before I can talk myself out of it.

By the time I raise my fist to knock on Peeta's door, I've worked myself into quite a state, Lady's leash twisted and tangled around my wrists. I don't even know what I'm doing here, why I came running to Peeta. It's not like there's anything he can do to make me feel better, and I already know he'll say that the eerie feeling that Snow gives me isn't reason enough to arrest him. There's no logical reason for me to be here outside of Peeta's door, but yet here I am.

The door opens just as I'm about to turn around and take off back down the walkway, and Lady lunges forward happily as soon as Peeta appears in the doorway. He laughs, bending to scratch behind her ears as she licks his face, her tail wagging frantically.

"Hey Ladybug," he says, laughing and trying unsuccessfully to dodge her tongue. "What're you doing running off on your owner like that, huh? You nearly gave her a heart attack." He looks up at me as he scratches behind her ears, his face breaking out in a wide smile, blue eyes sparkling. "Hey Katniss."

"Hi Peeta."

My expression must be truly alarming because when he looks up at me and realizes how I'm standing, hunched with my arms wrapped around myself, he grabs me by the arm and tugs me into the house, closing and locking the door behind me before folding me into his arms. My body tenses automatically at his touch but then relaxes, and I let him hold me up, let his strong arms hold me together.

"Katniss, what's wrong?" His voice is calm but I can hear the note of worry underneath.

I shake my head, eyes clenched tightly closed, my nose trailing across the soft material of his t-shirt. I should probably step back, but his arms feel too warm, too good, wrapped tightly around me.

"Katniss?" he asks again.

I indulge for just a moment longer before pulling back reluctantly, stepping out of his arms. I look down at Lady, unable to meet his eyes. "I uh… I don't know what I'm doing here. I can go…"

He shakes his head, reaching out to grasp my arm gently. "No way. You look freaked out. Come in and let me make you some tea or something." He takes Lady's leash from me, gently winding it out from around my wrist and brings her into the house with him, gesturing over his shoulder for me to follow.

"What's going on?" Peeta asks, letting Lady off of her leash, folding the strip of leather up and placing it on the counter. Lady trots happily off, nose in the air as she explores the unfamiliar territory. She seems to have recovered just fine from her brush with the creepiest man in Panem. I wish I could let it go so easily.

I shake my head. "It's nothing. I'm just being stupid."

Peeta plugs in the kettle and reaches to pull a couple of tea bags from a nearby cupboard. "It's clearly not nothing, Katniss, you look like you're about to vibrate out of your skin. Lady's home safe, so it can't be that. Talk to me."

I hesitate, taking a deep breath. "Lady didn't come back on her own."

Peeta's brow furrows as he studies my face. "What do you mean? Did someone bring her back?"

"Yes," I say, nodding. "That guy Snow."

Peeta's whole body stiffens and his hand shoots out, his fingers wrapping tightly around my wrist. "How did he know where to find you?" he asks in his cop voice, forcibly calm and clipped, no emotion, but I can feel the tension in his arm.

"Lady's collar tags have our address on them," I reply, and his grip immediately loosens, and I think I see him release the breath he was holding. "But it just… really freaked me out. He had her all muzzled and tied up tight with a rope, and he kept saying that I should 'keep better control of her or something might happen to her.' It felt like a threat. And don't you think it's a little weird that Lady went back there?" I toy idly with the end of my braid, staring down at the tiles on Peeta's kitchen floor. "It sounds so stupid when I say it out loud."

"It's not stupid," Peeta says, and I look up quickly to meet his eyes. Peeta studies me for a minute, his eyes flickering back and forth between each of mine. Finally he looks away, pulling a hand through his hair and turning to unplug the kettle. "Look, I'm not promising anything. It's still not evidence, but I'll look into it, okay?"

I nod stiffly. "Thank you, Peeta," I manage, and I smile up at him when he hands me the cup of tea he's made, bringing the mug up to my lips to take a careful sip.

We stand together in silence in the little kitchen, silently sipping at our tea. Peeta pulls out some biscuits that he says he baked himself. The tea is really good, some fancy custom blend that tastes like peppermint and chocolate, and it's soothing, working to calm my nerves one sip at a time, and the biscuits are so good that I actually moan when I take my first bite. Eventually Lady completes her exploration of Peeta's house and trots back into the kitchen, sliding to her belly on the cool floor between us.

And because I'm trying not to look at Peeta, something catches my eye, a stack of neat papers beside the microwave with big block letters proclaiming the word "MISSING" across the top.

"Peeta," I ask slowly, pointing, "what are those?"

He follows the direction of my finger, and looks back at me, chagrined. He raises his free hand to rub at the back of his neck; I think he's actually embarrassed. "Oh. They're missing posters, for Lady. I felt bad that I couldn't get out of work to help you look for her, so I might have made them when I was supposed to be filing." He drains the last of his tea, setting the mug in the sink, and his lips curl into a grin when he turns back to me. "Don't tell Haymitch."

It takes me a minute for his words to settle in. Peeta made missing posters for my dog? "Where did you get the photo?" I ask stupidly.

"I drew it," he says simply, sliding the top copy off the stack and handing it to me.

And now that I'm looking closer, I can see that yes, it is a drawing, rather than a black and white photograph as I had first thought. The pencil lines are visible but everything is there, so correct and so clearly Lady that it's not easily distinguishable from a photograph until you look as closely as I am now.

"Peeta," I breathe. "This is incredible."

He smiles almost shyly. "It's nothing," he insists. "I just did it with the ancient number two pencil from my desk drawer that has probably been there since Haymitch was a rookie."

I've been wondering what Peeta draws ever since the first time I'd noticed his ever present sketchbook, and I find myself wondering what else he can do, if he can depict something so amazing with just a crappy old pencil. "Can I see some more? Of your drawings, I mean?"

He nods, taking my mug from me to deposit it beside his own in the sink before gesturing for me to follow and I snag another biscuit from the plate before following him. He grins as I stuff my face with the biscuit but I ignore him - they're really good.

The last time I was here was to talk about the case, so I didn't get to see much of his house. He leads me through the little kitchen and into what appears to have once been a sunroom. It's full of late afternoon light, streaming in the long windows and filling the room with a soft glow. The floor is completely covered with a plastic drop cloth, and he's got canvas after canvas stacked around the little room, three or four deep against the walls. There's an easel with an in progress painting perched on it in the centre of the room. I approach that one first, and recognize Mrs. Miller's flowerbeds, just beginning to bloom. Peeta's brushstrokes have captured the warmth of spring, the bright beginnings of new life.

He nudges me gently and points towards one of the finished paintings on the floor, bending to pick it up. An involuntary laugh bursts from my lips; this one is Lady, too, her tongue lolling out happily as she stares up at us from the canvas. It's different from the drawing on the poster though, which was done for reference, exact and clinical like a photo, so that people would know how to recognize her. This painting has all the details exactly right, too, down to the splash of white on her forehead, and the sweet, soft look in her brown eyes, but there's something more. I can almost feel the softness of her ears just by looking at this painting, hear the sound of her happy bark and feel the warmth of her pressed against my side when I wake up from a nightmare. I look down at the real Lady, and I can't help but think that this painting has captured more of her than the more exact drawing did.

Peeta puts the painting down as I wander around the room, looking but not touching, admiring the vivid brushstrokes. Peeta's style is realistic but still somehow surreal; he's gotten all the details down but somehow managed to capture something _other_ , something more, something that tells a story rather than just depicts what's already there.

I turn away from the last painting, a beautiful rendition of a pair of chickadees on a tree still draped in a blanket of snow and find him watching me, a small smile on his lips. It's uncharacteristically shy as he waits for my judgement, and I can't help but reach out to him, taking his hand and slotting our fingers together.

"Peeta, these are so beautiful," I say honestly, and his smile widens even as he shrugs.

"They're nothing special," he says. "I just paint the beauty that I see." He's watching me closely now and I feel my face heat, though I don't know why.

"Honestly, Peeta," I say, pulling my braid over my left shoulder with my free hand. "They're really amazing."

"Thank you," he says, smiling sweetly, and his eyes catch mine and hold. I feel my breath snag in my chest and my heart flutters against my ribcage. Peeta's standing close to me, and I can feel the heat of him through our clothes. He smells good too, not overpowering like aftershave, but clean and a little bit spicy, like he used a really nice smelling body wash in the shower before I got there.

His hand tightens around mine and draws me ever so slightly closer. I should probably resist, pull back, tug my hand out of his grasp. Peeta would let me, I know without a doubt, and he would probably smile and act as if I didn't just shut him down. But I realize I don't want to, so I don't, and I find myself leaning into Peeta's heat until there is a bare inch between our bodies.

His eyes dart down to my lips and I tug my lower lip out from between my teeth where it's snagged of it's own accord. Then something flips in my belly because Peeta is leaning in, his eyes never leaving my face, studying me for any sign that he should pull back, until finally our lips meet and my eyes slide closed.

The first brush of Peeta's lips against mine is tentative, gentle, as if Peeta's still waiting for me to pull away. His lips are soft and dry, and he draws back far too quickly.

I immediately want another one.

He laughs at my huff of annoyance and leans in again, bringing his free hand up to cup my face, the pads of his fingers resting gently against the skin of my neck, just underneath the hinge of my jaw. His thumb skims idly over my cheekbone as he presses his lips to mine again, and this time his lips part against mine. My pulse hammers against his fingertips and I lean into him until I can feel his body pressed up against me. He releases my hand to circle my waist, and his tongue flicks out to trace the outline of my upper lip. I can feel the heat building under my skin as he deepens the kiss and I think I should stop, I should pull back, but my traitorous body presses into him, my hands sliding up his muscular arms to rest at the back of his neck.

It seems like we've been moving towards this moment since the first time I saw him at the Hob, his hair mussed from his own fingers, and his blue eyes warm as he looked up at me. I can't seem to remember why I had resisted this so long, why I'd been denying myself the feel of his hands, both now splayed out over my back, his lips caressing my own. But now that we've started I don't want to stop, and my hands are sliding into his hair, knotting in the wavy strands and pulling him closer.

He lets out a little gasp that sends fire surging into my abdomen as he licks into my mouth, his tongue flicking against mine, and tugs me impossibly closer. It's been years since I've kissed anyone, and I'd forgotten what it felt like to be so close to another person.

It's good. It's really fucking good. And I know that I won't be the one to pull away.

Finally it's Lady that breaks us apart when she comes trotting back into the room and lies down at our feet, plopping down unceremoniously against my calves. I laugh into Peeta's mouth and he draws back, his hands sliding out from behind my back to rest gently on my hips as he smiles down at me.

"Want to watch some tv?" he asks. "Parks and Rec is on." I laugh, nodding, and he catches my hand in his, lacing our fingers together.

He makes us more tea and then we move to the couch with the biscuits to snack on later. I sit with my legs drawn up underneath me, and he hands me a throw blanket without comment. This show is stupid but it still manages to make me laugh, the tea is soothing as it slides down my throat and into my belly, and Peeta is a solid warmth at my side. Our empty mugs end up side by side on the coffee table beside the bare plate of biscuits, and he takes my hand again, and I let him. Lady jumps up on the couch beside me and curls into a tight ball, and the three of us watch TV together until my eyelids grow heavy, and my head falls onto Peeta's shoulder and I smile sleepily when he presses a kiss to my hair.

* * *

I wake up the next morning to the distant sound of a radio alarm going off, feeling happier and more rested than I have in what seems like years. I realize that I slept the whole night, with not a single nightmare. I'm wrapped in a soft blanket, with Lady's weight resting comfortably at my feet, and there's something warm and soft beneath my cheek. I snuggle down into it, humming happily.

Then the something moves beneath me and my heart thumps hard in my chest. Peeta. I'm on Peeta's couch, in Peeta's living room, and it's Peeta's chest that I'm lying curled up practically on top of.

Oh my god.

I squirm to sit up and he stirs, blinking owlishly up at me as I look down at him. His hair is hopeless, the blonde waves sticking up in every direction, and I have an absurd desire to reach up and comb my fingers through it.

"Hey," he says, his voice raspy from sleep as he smiles up at me.

I feel an answering smile on my lips. "Hi."

And then he reaches up, cupping the back of my neck with one big hand and draws me back down until our lips touch in a chaste kiss, just a gentle brush of his lips against mine. My eyes flutter shut and when he slides his hand away from my neck to glide his thumb across my cheek, I smile against his mouth.

I pull back with a sigh to glance at Dad's watch where it slides, too big, on my wrist. "I should get going," I say reluctantly. I should probably check on Mom and make sure she's up and had breakfast, and I need to go to the grocery store today before work. Not to mention that it's a week day morning and Peeta needs to work today, too.

"Stay," he says, sitting up and tugging a hand through the mess of his hair. "I'll make you breakfast before you go. I make some mean buttermilk pancakes."

I open my mouth to protest that he's already done enough but then my stomach rumbles and he laughs while I scowl, embarrassed.

"I'm making you pancakes," he says decisively, and pushes himself off the couch, turning back to give me a hand up as well. He stretches, groaning as his back pops and the kinks straighten out, and I have to force myself not to stare as the muscles roll beneath his t-shirt.

I take Lady out to go to the bathroom, and when I get back, Peeta's in the kitchen, humming tunelessly to himself as he mixes ingredients in a big glass bowl. I laugh and make my way to the bathroom, opening up a fresh toothbrush from under the sink to brush my teeth and splashing water over my face. I comb through my hair with my fingers before re-braiding it, smoothing flyaway strands with some water.

When I get out of the bathroom, I can hear sizzling coming from the kitchen, along with the tantalizing smell of bacon wafting down the hallway. My mouth waters and I start back, looking forward to a real breakfast for once.

Peeta's busy flipping pancakes and waves away my offer of help, so I wander around the kitchen, peering at the pictures he has on the walls. I stop in the doorway of his studio, my eye caught by a painting of the woods, not as I've been accustomed to seeing them, from the meadow or from within, but from the street where one might drive past them on the way to the Police Station. I love what Peeta has done with the colors, the shades of rich greens layered together to create the shadows and warmth, the full foliage of summertime, even though he hasn't experienced a Panem summer yet. The painting fills me with longing and I pick it up, trailing my fingers gently over the brushstrokes, remembering days when Prim and Dad would play in the grass, and I would climb as high as I could go, feeling the wind in my hair and the freedom of being so high, where I could see everything but nothing could touch me.

I hear Peeta's voice calling me from the kitchen. "Coming!" I call back, and move to put the painting back down on the floor where I found it. But as I do so, I notice the painting that had stood behind it, hidden by the one in my hands until I moved it.

Trees loom on either side of the canvas, the same trees in the last image except this time dark and foreboding, seeming to curl ominously inwards. Between them lies the meadow, the one where we used to play, but this isn't the same as the last painting. Peeta couldn't have seen this as he drove by, because the meadow is _gone_ , torn down to make way for that monstrosity of an arena.

And there, framed by the trees, is a girl, her blond hair streaming behind her as she runs away from the foreground, and I can almost feel the wind rushing by as I try to catch up to her, hear my scream rip out of my throat when I call her name.

_Prim._

I have seen this same image dozens of times in the past six years, have woken from this dream in a cold sweat with Prim's name on my lips too many times to remember. I feel the blood drain from my face, and I sway on my feet, a cold wash of fear running through me. How could Peeta know this? How could Peeta have seen my dreams?

"Katniss?"

I whirl at the sound of Peeta's voice in the doorway behind me, feeling like a deer caught in the headlights.

He smiles. "Breakfast is ready," he says, but then he sees the painting in my hand and his smile falters.

"What is this?" I blurt out, shoving the painting towards him, my hand shaking, fear and confusion translating to anger.

He blinks at me, confused. "Why do you want to know?" he hedges, an obvious deflection.

"Just tell me!" My voice is high pitched, frantic. I can feel the tension under my skin, threatening to rip me apart.

"Okay Katniss, I'll tell you, but I need you need to calm down first." Peeta's eyes go wide with concern as he sees my panic, and I struggle to take a deep breath to calm my shaking limbs. "I dreamed it," he admits finally, gesturing to the canvas in my hand. "I don't know who that girl is supposed to be or why I dreamed about her, but I woke up and couldn't get this image out of my head."

The room tilts alarmingly, my vision swimming, and Peeta reaches out a hand to steady me. "Katniss? What's wrong?"

"In your dream," I ask, ignoring the question, "were you running after this girl? Trying to call out to her?"

His eyes are wide as he looks down at me, his hand tightening on my elbow. "Yes," he says softly. "How did you know that?"

I push the painting into his hands and spin away from him, dragging shaking hands over my face. "Because it's Prim," I answer finally, swallowing hard. "It's Prim, and I've dreamed it, too."

I turn back to him, and he's staring at me, horrified. He reaches out, tugging me forward into his arms and I let him embrace me because I have no idea what the fuck else to do, and I'm shaking so hard that I'm afraid I might fly apart.

Peeta didn't know Prim when she was alive, never visited the meadow with her like I used to. Yet somehow, Peeta and I have both been having the same dream, a dream about Prim running through the meadow from something I know she can't escape. I can feel the despair and the fear that Peeta felt when I look at this canvas, the same things I feel every time I have that particular nightmare.

What the hell is going on?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thanks so much for reading, commenting, leaving kudos and for messaging us on tumblr. We are still blown away by the number of people who are invested in this story and are so glad that you are enjoying it. We love writing it as much as you love reading it. I really hope you enjoyed this chapter... I think it's one that lots of us (myself included!) have been waiting for for a long time!
> 
> Special thanks as always to our beta jennagill and pre-reader desertginger; you gals are the bees knees! 
> 
> Happy New Year everyone! I hope the holidays were good to you! Come visit on us on tumblr; I'm madefrommemoriesff and my co-authors are loveforpanem and soamazinghere!


	15. Peeta

_What the hell is going on? How did she know that about my dream? How is she dreaming the same thing?_  I pull Katniss as close to me as I can. She's shaking and I'm gripping her so tightly I'm afraid I'm cutting off her air supply.

After a few seconds pass, I clear my throat and loosen my grip. She takes the opportunity to step back and looks up at me with the same fear and confusion I'm sure is being reflected back to her from my own face. I'm not sure how to explain this. Is this just a coincidence and I'm reading too much into it? I think I'm just spooked from what's happened to Annie, and I'm trying to find a connection to Katniss that isn't there.

I grow concerned when I glance down and see her staring blankly at the wall, lost in thought. Finally, she opens her mouth and speaks hesitantly, wrapping her arms around herself, "Maybe I should just go. You need to get ready for work and I have a lot to do today."

I shake my head and brush a stray piece of hair behind her ear, trying to figure out what to say to convince her not to run away. My tone with her is gentle, like speaking to a wounded animal, "Nonsense. I just made a hot breakfast and you're my guest. There is absolutely no way I'm letting you leave on an empty stomach. Plus, it takes me like five minutes to get ready for work. I have time."

She gives me a hesitant, half smile and we quietly exit the room. I think her stomach made the decision for her to follow me, but I'll take it. I just need her to stay. I'm worried if she goes, she might not come back.

Neither of us really talk while we eat. We sit side-by-side at the bar in my small kitchen. My feet are pressed so firmly against the bottom rung of my stool I'm afraid I'm going to pop the screws and Katniss can't seem to get her leg to stay still. I place my hand on her knee; not only to help her calm down and hopefully let her know it will be okay, but also to stop the annoying squeaking noise her stool keeps making. She glances over at me, looking a little shy all of a sudden. Her voice is small and quiet, "It's really good, I haven't had someone make me breakfast in a long time."

"I'm glad you like it." I slide the plate with the last piece of bacon towards her, "Here, you can have the last piece." She just smiles before taking it off the plate and biting into it. We both go back to staring at our plates and eating.

The uncomfortable silence is making this breakfast a lot less pleasant than I had originally hoped it would be. Everything had been going so well until Katniss saw the picture. I should have hidden it better, or maybe just thrown it away or painted over it. I don't really want to see it again. I don't know why I kept it. It just felt… unfinished.

I continue to stare at my plate while I mull over everything going on and chew my last bite of cold pancake. I'm brought back into the moment when Katniss picks up my plate and sets it in the sink before running water over it. "Thanks, I could have gotten that."

She waves her hand to dismiss me. "Thank you for breakfast, it was the least I could do."

We stare at each other, not exactly sure what to say next. She breaks eye contact and quickly walks past me towards the front door. I hear the door to the coat closet open and I'm on my feet to go to her. She's just slipped on her leather jacket and already has Lady's leash in her hand. "Well, I think I really am going to go this time." She peeks around the doorway, "C'mon Lady! Time to go."

Lady jumps down from the warm spot on the couch where Katniss and I had been laying earlier. It's not even been an hour since I woke up in such a happy state, how did everything fall apart so quickly?

I take the leash from Katniss and kneel down in front of Lady, clipping her leash onto her collar and then scratching her head and ears. "So Lady, are you going to be good for Katniss now? No more running away?" She licks my face and lets out a little whine before walking over to the door and scratching it, letting us know she needs to go out.

Katniss chuckles, "I think that's my cue to leave." She watches me get up, but her eyes flit away never making contact with mine. I see a light pink tint on her cheeks. "Um, I had a nice time last night. Thank you for letting me come over, it really helped."

I chuckle at the sudden awkwardness between us. My hand instinctively goes to the back of my neck. It's a nervous habit I just can't drop. "You know you can come over anytime, for any reason, right?" I dust off a few stray pieces of Lady's hair from my shirt. "Plus, um, it was really nice… just having you here with me."

I think the tension between us becomes too much for Katniss because in that instant I feel her lips pressed against mine. Either that, or she just wanted me to shut up. Which I'm okay with if this is how she gets me to stop talking.

The kiss is brief and chaste before she pulls away and turns towards the door. I reach for her hand on the door knob and pull her into my arms. It feels like it took me forever to get her, there is no way I'm letting her leave like that. She's surprised, but doesn't try to pull away from me. I tilt my head and lean in for a proper kiss goodbye. Her chapped lips are warm and pliable against mine. It doesn't take much coaxing for her to allow me to deepen the kiss. With just a few soft caresses of my tongue to her lips, she readily accepts and eagerly matches my movements. A soft moan escapes her throat and it takes all my willpower to not pick her up in my arms and take her to my bed.

Thankfully, I don't have to rely on my judgement because Lady's frantic whining and incessant scratching at the door breaks us apart.

We both pull away, breathing heavy with flush faces. Katniss's voice cracks when she speaks. "I need to let her out, otherwise she'll make a mess on your floor."

I stupidly nod my head, still in a little bit of a daze. "Yeah, I have to get ready for work."

She gives a small wave when she walks out the door. I've run myself way too short on time before work. I take an ice cold shower to calm down and get dressed in record time. As I leave my house, I turn to lock my front door and am startled when I look up and see Finnick rocking back and forth on the old swing at the end of my porch.

"Holy shit, Finnick!" What the hell are you doing here?"

The normally cheerful guy I know has been replaced by someone who looks like a ghost of himself for weeks now. He has dark circles under his eyes and it seems like all the joy has left him. "They're letting Annie come home today."

"Isn't that good news?" I asked slightly confused.

"Yeah, it is." He sighs, "I'm just scared it's too soon. I've been up all night getting everything ready for her, dealing with Patrick, and her parents."

I nod, "Do you need any help bringing her home?

He shakes his head, "No, I've got it. I just came over to review a few cases with you. I'm going to be out for a little while taking care of her, and I already told Haymitch you'd cover for me and that you'll be late for work."

I open the door and invite Finnick inside. We get settled back in the house and I make an extra strong pot of coffee.

After about an hour and several cups, Finnick stands and says he needs to get Annie from the treatment center. I pick up his stack of files and carry them with me to leave. Just as he's about to reach for the doorknob, he pauses and turns around, his face becoming serious."I saw Katniss leave your house when I pulled up this morning."

I stop dead in my tracks, curious about what he's doing, "Okay..."

He immediately responds, raising his voice, "What the fuck are you doing, Peeta? I thought I told you to be careful with the Katniss situation. You cannot get involved with someone from an active case like this. You'll lose all objectivity and really fuck up everything we've all worked so hard for these past six years."

I become defensive, this is none of his fucking business, "Nothing happened! You have no idea what went on here last night. Her dog went missing yesterday and that asshole Snow brought it back to her all tied up. She was freaked out and felt safe bringing it here, _to the house of a cop_. Katniss slept on the couch."

"Did you tell her about Snow?" Finnick retorts, clearly seeing through my lie.

"No! Of course not! She came to me and said Snow had the dog, that's all." I force myself to control the volume of my voice and keep an even tone. Anger is bubbling inside of me, but I won't do myself - or Katniss - any favors by letting Finnick see it.

His eyes never break contact with mine and the disbelief on his face is obvious. "Fine, if you say nothing happened, nothing happened. But you have to listen to me, Peeta. I'm not trying to be a dick, I'm just trying to tell you this in the best interest for both you and Katniss. What would happen if you and Katniss get involved and it turns sour? Would you still handle her case properly? Would this poor girl who lost her little sister hate you if you can't find the killer? I'm just saying think this through. You aren't the only one who could get hurt." He places his hand on my shoulder, and the look on his face softens to one of concern. "Also, there has been six years of work on this case, do you just want to throw all of this away just because of a crush? I see it all over your face when we talk about her. You like her. Any other time I'd be happy for you. I know you don't just fall for any girl and you don't really even allow yourself to get involved with anyone. With how cautious you are, I can't believe this is the girl you are falling for."

I stand there motionless. How do I respond? Everything he is saying is right. He opens the door and walks out with me following closely behind. As he gets into his car, the last words he says to me are, "Just make sure that she's worth it, Peeta. It's your career we're talking about here."

Getting into my own car, I can't even look back at him. He knows I heard what he said. I sit in the driveway and wait for him to leave. How did everything get so fucked up so quickly? I set the files he gave me in the passenger seat and watch his car fade away in the rear view mirror.

* * *

The sky is no longer the murky grey of winter. The sun is shining a little brighter and it looks like it's going to be a pretty spring day. Had things been different this morning, I would have gone running. Instead, I'm heading into work and the short drive does nothing to clear my head. The stacks of Finnick's and my files on my desk are mocking me and it seems like everything is making me claustrophobic and feeling trapped. I need fresh air. I need to get out of here.

This is one of those rare days that Haymitch's office door is open and the smell of booze isn't wafting through the bullpen. I get up the nerve to tap on the doorframe a few times to get his attention. He looks up from the paper he is writing on, still refusing to use his computer for paperwork. "What do you want?" The way he speaks to me isn't gruff, but at this point I know him well enough to know he won't be tolerating any hesitation or anything he deems to be wasting his time.

I make sure to sound confident when I speak, "Morning Haymitch. Have we got the go ahead from Plutarch on canvassing Capitol Drive?"

He rotates his chair so that he is no longer facing me, but turned towards the window. "So, you think since it's a pretty day outside, you can go on a little field trip?"

"I'm just tired of sitting on it. We aren't getting anywhere with our thumbs up our asses. I know someone on that street knows more than what they told the cops before. I want the go ahead to ask my questions."

There is a quick bark of laughter before he answers, "There you go, boy. That's what I wanted to hear. You already pissed away your morning on your coffee date with Odair. Get your ass down there. And you better get some information from Snow or else you are going to be stuck on desk duty for the rest of the month, got it?"

"I'll be damned if I'm going to be stuck at that desk for almost a month. I'll get something for you."

He turns back around and gets back to his paperwork. "And don't just dick around while you are out there. You still have yours and Finnick's other cases to work. You don't both get time off."

"Yes, sir." I respond to him while quickly grabbing my keys, coat, and satchel from my desk. I'm out the door before I can hear whatever shitty comment he was going to make about calling him sir.

I've been chomping at the bit to get to do this ever since Plutarch Heavensbee took over for Seneca Crane as Chief of Police. In his short time in the new position, he has lifted most of the unwritten bans that were in effect under Crane's regime. One of the first was the protection of the wealthy citizens of Panem. It's almost comical how easy it has been for the cops to make their quota on speeding tickets and traffic violations this month with so many rich assholes thinking the old rules still applied to them. Heavensbee isn't making any friends, but he sure is making it easier on the police force.

But, now that I have access to the people that were untouchable before, I don't want to lose a single minute and let any more of them get away. I've gone ahead and researched the area pretty extensively. Out of the 32 houses that line Capitol Drive, only 19 are occupied by the same people who were there at the time of Prim's disappearance.

After she went missing, many of the families with younger children left, disturbed that such a horrifying thing could happen so close to turn a blind eye to the fact that these sorts of crimes can and do happen anywhere. But that doesn't seem to matter; they move, believing that they've protected their families.

There were also other residents that left for other reasons. Two were elderly and have since passed. There were some job transfers that checked out and four foreclosures.

As I slowly drive down Capitol Drive, there are already crews out taking care of the perfectly manicured lawns and even a house painter at work on one of the homes exteriors.

I park at the end of the street, furthest from the rec center. I figured I would work my way towards it. With my notepad and list of houses to visit in my hand, I take a deep breath get started.

Making my way down the street is unfortunately quick and uninformative. Most people are at work or out for the day, except for the few housewives or stay at home parents. The people I spoke with really didn't have anything worthwhile. There was one guy working from home that was pretty pissed I interrupted his conference call. When he was about to start cursing me out for interfering with his"very important call from Hong Kong," I have to admit it was pretty satisfying flashing my badge and getting him to shut up. But, even after that, I'm still without any good information, and the threat of working the desk is enough to keep me motivated.

The problem I am having is that everyone remembers the incident, but either can't remember the details because it's been so long ago or they just didn't see anything. Which is exactly what we all worried would happen. My optimism is running thin.

After about two hours of dead ends, I finally make my way to the house of the person I'm most interested in visiting - Coriolanus Snow. Walking up his large driveway, I walk past his new black SUV, and I notice the plant that Lady must've been trying to dig up. The fresh dirt is darker than everything else in the flower bed. I walk around the side and see a gate with the latch open. I get a chill down my spine, but shake it off. I don't know what possess me to do it, but I gently push at the gate and it easily swings open. It makes a loud creaking noise and I quickly back away, distancing myself from the now open back yard. I turn away from it and head back towards the front door.

Before I even reach the door, it swings open in front of me and Snow appears. Hopefully, he didn't hear me opening the gate. I remain calm and instead of acting guilty of the snooping I was just doing, I flash him a large smile and go for a warm greeting, "Good afternoon Mr. Snow, my name is Detective Peeta Mellark with the Panem Police Department. Do you think I could have a little of your time today?"

The older man smiles broadly at me, and the deep creases that form around his eyes give him a much kinder demeanor than I believe him to actually have. "Good morning Detective Mellark. You can have all the time you need, please come in. It's pretty chilly out and I just put a kettle on the stove for tea." Although his words are kind, there is something about his tone that makes my skin crawl.

I nod politely, taking his offer. Before crossing over the threshold of the door, for some reason I think to look over my shoulder. What I see makes my stomach drop - a perfectly unobstructed view of the rec center right from his front door. A sour taste develops in my mouth and I am instantly reminded that I am walking into the home of a possible murderer.

The first thing I notice about his home is how incredibly neat and tidy it is. The formal and stuffy the furniture are absolutely gleaming, even though I can't imagine they get much use from a single, elderly man. The room has a musty smell you'd expect in a home like this. It reminds me of my grandparents' home but with a heady, metallic smell that I can't quite place. The loud ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner of the room resonates in my head and matches up with the loud thumping of my heartbeat in my ears. I'm so distracted by all the sounds surrounding me, that I never notice the kettle whistle or Snow calling for me.

I jump slightly when I feel his bony finger tap my shoulder, "Tea, detective?"

Unable to control the stammer in my voice, I give a shaky reply, "Yes, thank you."

He nods and gestures towards the small, stiff looking Queen Anne sofa. It's old, probably an antique, but the heavy brocade fabric looks like it's never been sat on. "I'll be right back, please make yourself comfortable."

Snow comes back into the living room from the kitchen pushing a trolley with a fancy, full service tea set on top. I've only ever seen anything like this on old British television shows and movies. It makes me realize just how different his lifestyle is from mine. My family certainly wasn't poor growing up, but we would have never had this kind of opulence. Although, I'm sure my mother would have loved to rub something like this in the face of friends and neighbors. If he were to have tea at my house, he would be getting two mismatched mugs with paper tea tags hanging from strings on the sides of the cups while they steep. Instead he picks up the tray from the top of the trolley, loaded with what looks like a very expensive, gold rimmed tea set. He pulls a silver tea infuser out of the pot and pours tea into very delicate tea cups. Before handing me the cup and saucer, he asks, "Sugar, Detective Mellark?"

I shake my head, "No thank you."

His hand has a slight tremor and it causes the porcelain cup and saucer to make a soft clanking sound, before I take them from him.

"So, Detective, to what do I owe this pleasure of a companion for my afternoon tea? Normally, it's just me and a good book." He says as he taps an old leatherbound volume on the coffee table. The smile that accompanies his words is, I'm sure, meant to be friendly...but it feels like a mask, like it doesn't quite fit on his face.

It's not a genuine smile, it never reaches his eyes and makes me even more uncomfortable.

"Well sir, I wish it were under better circumstances, but I was wondering if you might have a moment to talk about something that happened several years ago. Do you remember anything about Primrose Everdeen? She was a young girl that went missing in June of 2007."

A look of genuine surprise crosses his face before he responds. I wonder if he thought this would be about the Undersee case. "My goodness, has it really been six years since that poor girl went missing? What a shame, she looked like such a lovely child. So full of life and promise." He makes a tisking noise before taking a sip of tea. "What were you wanting to know, Detective? I spoke with the police right after she disappeared. I gave them all of the information I had."

His tone is too upbeat and his demeanor is too polite. It's off-putting. What kind of game is he playing? Is it cockiness? Innocence? Actual concern and willingness to help? I can't read him, yet.

"Do you remember anything unusual that day?"

"You'll have to forgive the memory of this old man, some details aren't as clear as they used to be." He chuckles, like he's sharing a joke between two old friends, "But, I just don't recall anything out of the ordinary that day."

I get the distinct feeling that he's lying to me, but I press forward, "Did you notice any service trucks or unfamiliar vehicles in the neighborhood during that time?"

He sits silent for a moment, acting like he is searching his memory."No, I'm afraid I don't." He pauses and then looks directly in my eyes. "But, then again, I don't really concern myself too much with my neighbors. I'm of the mindset if they stay out of my business, I'll stay out of theirs."

My brow furrows, "And why is that?"

"Well, you see, Detective, if you'd been in my line of work for over forty years, you'd understand why I tend to try to keep their pathetic stories and lies out of my personal life."

I pull out my notebook to look like I am referring to my notes, even though I already know the answer to my question, "You were a lawyer, correct?"

He raises an eyebrow, "I see you've done some research. Yes I was. A very good lawyer and well known. I'm surprised you didn't already know that."

I'm curt with my response, "I'm not from here. So, you'd say you're a pretty solitary person, huh?"

"Yes. I prefer it that way." He takes a long sip of his tea, and his tone has become a little more harsh, "Not to say I don't enjoy this company today." He smiles, and his eyes have become less inviting and more snakelike. The change makes me uneasy. But, I feel like I am on the right track. I will get more out of him with pressure than niceties.

"Of course," I smile back, "Do you have any family, Mr. Snow?"

"I was never really a family man, Detective. I was always married to my work first. As I'm sure you know." He glances at my hand, "Am I safe in assuming there isn't a Mrs. Mellark?"

Is he trying to get into my head? I play along momentarily, but get back on track quickly, "No, there isn't, yet. Was there a Mrs. Snow?"

"A long time ago, there was. Now, the only family member I speak to anymore is my granddaughter. But she's in college and lives far away from here."

"It sounds like your family has drifted apart over the years?" Snow responds only with an acknowledging tilt of his head, so I continue. "But as long as you're happy where you are in life, that's all that matters, I suppose." This time I take a sip of tea. "Not everyone needs a lot of family."

He is about to respond, but before he can speak again, he starts coughing violently and instantly puts a white, monogrammed handkerchief to his mouth. His face turns bright shade of red, then violet; made brighter by the contrast to the white hair that frames his face and jaw. I get up to help, but he motions for me to sit back down. While he's coughing the smell of blood and decay rushes past me. It's the smell I couldn't place earlier, only stronger. It is unpleasant and I try not to gag. His coughing finally subsides, and he is slowly regaining his ability to breathe and calms down. The sound of the clock is the loudest noise in the room again.

"Are you alright? Do you need me to call an ambulance?"

He wipes his mouth and clears his throat. "I'm fine. Thank you for your concern, but it is unnecessary. No need to worry, this happens quite often. Please continue."

I refer back to my notes, but decide to go a different route. There is a part of me that wants to stop, to let the old man rest. But then I remember that this man may have murdered at least one young girl, if not more. That's when I decide to press on. "I noticed that you could see the rec center from your front door. It seems like you should be able to see what goes on there pretty well. Is that right?"

He raises his eyebrow and picks back up his teacup. "Like I said Detective, I don't concern myself with my neighbors. That extends to the children at the rec center, as well." He places his handkerchief next to him on the sofa and I notice there is a small red stain on the pristine fabric.

I decide that we are done for the moment with Prim's case, but I'm not quite ready to walk away just yet. "Well, thank you for your time today Mr. Snow."

"Of course. Anything to help."

Snow follows me towards the door. I turn before I reach it and ask, "By the way, have you been to Wheeling lately?"

I know this wasn't approved by Haymitch, but I think it's more than just coincidence that he's been questioned about two different girls being murdered or disappearing.

This question changes his attitude towards me completely. We have now lost all pretense of friendliness and the charade of politeness has been thrown out the window. I couldn't be happier. His response is blunt, "As a matter of fact I have. Why do you ask, Detective?"

"Recently, a young girl named Madge Undersee was found murdered and dumped off in a field in Wheeling. There have been some witnesses coming forward and stating there was a black Land Rover driving erratically in that area during the suspected time of her murder." I pause to let it sink in that I've made this connection. "That is a brand new black Range Rover in your driveway, wasn't it?"

"What are you insinuating, Mr. Mellark?" His change of tone, from friendly to biting, tells me he's letting down his guard and he's starting to crack. My instincts are telling me I'm not going to make it much further with this line of questioning, but I'm willing to take my chances.

"All I'm trying to figure out is why you were in Wheeling, on the day of Madge Undersee's murder, driving erratically. That's all."

His face turns serious and he points a shaky finger in my face. "Listen young man, I will tell you exactly what I told the police in Wheeling. I was there for radiation treatment. I was more tired than I thought and my car was swerving as a result."

"So, you were there for what I'm assuming is cancer treatment, and had no one drive you after radiation therapy? It seems like the solitary lifestyle doesn't exactly agree with your health problems. Does it?"

Snow heads straight towards the door again and this time opens it, obviously ready for me to leave. "Rest assured, Detective Mellark. I am more than capable of taking care of myself. Now, if you'll excuse me, there's not much sunlight left and I'd like to do a little more yard work before the day gets away from me completely."

"Very well, Mr. Snow. If you have any more information, regarding either case, please let me know." I hand him my card. "My office and cell phone number are both listed on there."

He looks at my card for a brief moment before handing it back to me. "Detective, I am more than happy to help out in any way that I can. And I believe I have been most forthcoming with the authorities so far. But, I am quite sure this is the last you will hear from me."

With a nod of understanding, I make my way out the front door. Snow's voice stops me before I can continue down the steps. "Mr. Mellark, I do hope you find who you are looking for. I don't know how the monster who did either of those horrible things could live with himself without seeing those poor girls' faces everywhere. Have a pleasant afternoon."

He shuts the door and I'm left there, standing in a stupor, trying to figure out the game he is playing.

* * *

The next few days are a blur. With Finnick being out and my own case load increasing from Haymitch relying on me more, I haven't had much time to think about Prim's case. I've been getting home from work so late each night that I haven't even had a chance to talk to Katniss. Without realizing it, several days have passed without speaking to each other. I hope she's just been busy, like me, but a part of me is worried that she's pulling away.

Now would be a good time to call her since my eyes are starting to burn from staring at this computer for so long. Before I get a headache, I decide to take a break and pick my phone up off the corner of my paper-covered desk. I don't know what her work schedule is today, so I'm not even sure I'll be able to get a hold of her. So, I'm a little surprised when she actually picks up after a few rings.

She answers in a huff and there are rustling noises in the background. "Hello? Peeta?"

I can't help but smile when I hear her voice, even if she does sound flustered. "Hey stranger, how are you?"

There is a crash and the sound of Lady barking on the other end, "Fine. Sorry, I'm trying to get these groceries brought in and Lady won't stop jumping up on me because I've been gone all day running errands." Her voice becomes distant for a moment as she moves away from the phone. "Lady, get down!"

"Do I need to let you go?"

"No, it's fine. She's just been a little harder to deal with lately. I won't let her go outside without me watching her, and she's not staying out as long as she did before. She's getting stir-crazy and over excited to go on her walk."

"I'd probably be like that if I had to stay inside all day, too. Are you free tonight or do you have to work?"

"Oh, um, I'm off work. Why? Do you have some new information about Prim's case?"

I cringe, maybe this is a bad idea. What if she's had second thoughts and thinks our relationship worked better when it focused on Prim's case? "No, I'm sorry I don't. I was actually just kind of hoping just to see you. Is that okay?"

There is a long pause before she speaks again, "Peeta, I'm not sure we should see each other like that."

I whisper to make sure Haymitch can't hear, even though I'm sure he's asleep at his desk. "Katniss, is that really the way you feel? If you just want to keep this professional, I can respect that. But, I would be lying to you if I said I felt the same way. Waking up with you the other morning was honestly the best thing that's happened to me in a long time."

There is a painful silence on the other end. My heart is pounding so hard in my chest I'm surprised she can't hear it through the phone. Finally she responds, "I can come over tonight."

I'm not even going to try to cover the relieved sigh I release. "You will? That's great, really great Katniss. I'm going to try and get out of here a little earlier tonight. Do you want to meet me at my house in about an hour?"

"Sure. Let me just take Lady for her walk and then I'll be over."

The next hour ticks by agonizingly slow. I should be trying to get done as much as I can, but now I'm just so excited to see her that I'm having a hard time concentrating.

Haymitch finally comes meandering out of his office just a few minutes before I was going to go to tell him I was leaving. He looks at me, blurry-eyed, "What are you still doing here?"

"Well, actually I was just about to leave."

He grunts, "Then get the hell out of here. You don't want to end up like me, do you?"

Hell no. "No sir, you don't have to tell me twice."

"Oh, and boy... say hi to Katniss for me."

* * *

All of the worries and stress of my week seem to dissipate the second I pull into my driveway and see Katniss's old truck and then her sitting on my front steps.

My cheeks hurt with how hard I'm smiling. I grab my stuff and get out of my car. As I walk towards her, I call out, "You better be careful, I could get used to coming home and seeing you here."

Her eyes get three times bigger. Shit. That was a stupid thing to say. We've hung out a couple of times and I'm telling her I like the idea of seeing her waiting for me at home everyday? Excellent way to scare off the girl you're crazy about. Wait? I'm crazy about this woman? I need to reel this in. This is not like me to be infatuated with a girl like this. What has she done to me? You need to fix this with her. Now. I stammer out, "I, uh, just meant it was nice to see you. Where's Lady?"

Her shoulders seem to relax, "Oh, she's a little much to deal with today. I left her at home with my mom."

I nod in understanding while opening the door, "So, I get a whole evening with Katniss Everdeen, uninterrupted? I'm okay with that."

She wipes her hands on her clingy black pants as she stands up. "Yup, It's just me tonight." She gives me a coy smile, "What's for dinner?"

One of these days, I will cook for her, or at least bake. But, today is not that day, as is evident by the empty pizza box and beer bottles sitting on my coffee table. She's already made herself at home, leaning back on the couch, lazily flipping channels, "There's nothing on TV."

I stand up to clear away the trash, "Did you look through the DVDs?"

She shakes her head and goes over to the tower of movies in the corner of the room. When I flop back down on the couch, I am greeted with a perfect view of her bending over and looking through our choices. She's making it difficult for me to stay respectful and keep my hands to myself tonight.

She finally makes her selection and places it in the DVD player. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't extremely happy and surprised when she returns to the sofa, curls herself up next to me, and tucks her feet up underneath herself. I smile down at her when her hesitant silver eyes look up at me, "You don't mind, do you?"

"Not at all." I press a kiss to the top of her head and pull the blanket from the back of the couch to cover us.

She hands me all of my remotes, "I don't know how to work your TV."

I press the combination of buttons on three different remotes to get it started. I can't help but chuckle when I see the opening to  _The Big Lebowski_  come up. She shrugs, "It's one of my favorites. I know every line."

She snuggles into me more as we watch The Dude make his journey to find his rug. True to her word, she does know practically every word of this movie. Every once in a while, I glance over and see her mouthing along with the dialogue of the movie. She laughs though all of Walter and Donny's scenes and can't help herself and actually says, "That rug really tied the room together" out loud, each time it is said.

At one point during the movie, something occurs to me and I can't help but chuckle. She glances over at me and playfully slaps my arm. "Don't make fun of me."

I'm a little confused, "I wasn't making fun of you."

She glares, "Yes you were. You were laughing at me because I'm quoting the movie."

When I realize what she's talking about, I have to laugh. "No, I wasn't laughing at you at all. It just occured to me who our new Chief of Police looks like. He looks like Lebowski's assistant, Brandt. It's been bugging me ever since Heavensbee took over and I finally figured it out."

"Oh." Her face has softened and she seems genuinely relaxed. She's so pretty when she smiles, I wish she would do it more often.

As the movie progresses, we keep inching closer and closer to each other. Without realizing it, I am lightly running my fingers up and down her arm and she is lazily drawing light circles on my thigh. I have to adjust in my seat when her fingers keep sliding further and further up my leg.

I swallow the lump in my throat and look down at her. The movie has gotten to my least favorite part - the dream sequence - and we both stare at each other during the lull. Her eyes have turned dark, the pupils almost completely taking over. Without warning, she raises herself up and presses her lips to mine. I turn towards her and bring my hands up to her face and cup her jaw, keeping her lips firmly pressed against mine. She starts to get frustrated with the way she's twisted around and places her hands on my shoulders and pushes to get me to lean back on the couch. After a few quick movements, and never separating our mouths, I'm laying down with my head on the armrest and she is straddling my stomach.

Our kisses gradually become more heated. Our tongues explore every crevice of each other's mouths and my hands slide up and down her back while her hands roam the planes of my chest. When I finally get the courage to move down to cup her ass, I'm rewarded with a throaty moan. I knead the firm flesh through her pants, getting lost in the slight weight of her body on mine and her more fervoured kisses. I have to break the kiss and gasp for air when she slides down my body and presses her center against the painful throbbing of my erection. She rocks herself against me, eliciting a few ragged sighs from me. My greediness takes over and I find myself digging my fingertips into her hips to hold her in place.

My mind is a muddled mess. I can't think straight and I'm worried I'm going to come right now. It's been so long since I've done this.

I pull away from her mouth and trail sloppy, open mouth kisses down her neck. When I feel her fast beating pulse against my tongue, I pause and suck on the soft skin. She responds by grinding against me and pulling one of my hands off her hips and pushing it up her shirt and under her bra. But, just as her small, pert breast fits into my hand, I come to the heavy realization of just what we are doing. I might regret saying this, but I think we are moving too fast. We aren't ready for this. It's too soon and this is too important. I'd like the opportunity to pursue something with Katniss, but at the same time, I don't want to jeopardize the career I've worked for so long to establish. I'd never forgive myself if this ended up damaging her sister's case. We have to take things slow, whether we want to or not. We have to be certain we agree that this is all worth it.

I give her one last kiss before pulling away. I'm breathing so hard, I can barely speak, "Katniss." My eyes roll back in my head when she kisses my neck and starts to lick the sensitive skin on the outside of my ear. "Katniss." My voice is a little louder this time, but not any steadier.

"Hmm?" She replies and then releases the earlobe she was just sucking on.

I grit my teeth, "We can't do this. We have to stop."

She shoots straight up. I instantly feel cold and empty, wishing I could take back what I just said.

Her hair is disheveled and lips red and swollen. She jumps off me, frantically smoothing down her hair, trying to find her shoes. She's panicking and rushing towards the kitchen to get her purse.

I jump to my feet and follow her, "Katniss, wait."

It breaks my heart to see her wipe off a tear that has fallen down her cheek. "You're right, this was a bad idea. I have to go."

"Whoa." I loosely wrap my fingers around her wrist to get her to stop. "I never said this was a bad idea. I just said we needed to stop."

"What's the difference, Peeta? We shouldn't be doing this. I don't deserve to do this."

"Wait, what? You don't deserve this? Is that what you think?" I pull her into my arms. "What on earth makes you say that?"

She just shakes her head. "Nothing, it's nothing. I'm just tired. I think it's time I go home."

"Katniss, it's late. You can stay here. You can sleep in my bed, I'll stay on the couch. It's not a big deal. I don't really think you should drive right now. You're tired and we've had a few beers."

She looks away, "It's probably a bad idea for me to stay here."

"I think it's a worse idea if you go." I hope that doesn't come off desperate, but I'm afraid if she leaves, this is it, she'll stay gone.

"I'll have to leave early. I can't let Lady stay with Mom by herself for too long."

"That's fine, I told Finnick I would go over and have breakfast with him, Annie, and Patrick in the morning."

She finally relents and walks down the hallway, pointing to the room she thinks is my bedroom before entering it. She silently climbs into the bed and under the covers.

I sigh, wishing the evening hadn't ended like this, "Goodnight, Katniss." I flip on the light switch and walk out. Before I make it down the hall, I hear Katniss call for me.

I walk back into the dark room, "Is everything okay?"

She hesitates before speaking, "Peeta, will you stay with me?"

"Yeah, of course." I slide in next to her and allow her to get comfortable. She settles down with her head on my chest and her breathing starts to even out. After she's probably asleep, I whisper one more word, more for myself than her, as the clarity hits me of exactly how strong my feelings for her are becoming. "Always."

* * *

Waking up this morning was incredible. Neither one of us had any bad dreams and we both slept soundly. She pressed her small body against mine and let me silently hold her until we both had to get up to leave. At first, I regretted telling Finnick I would go to his house for breakfast, wishing I could stay with Katniss all day, but she had things she needed to take care of this morning before work. I find that when I'm with her, I just want more time. I always want whatever little bit she can give me.

That's why I'm excited when I see her name flash on the screen of my phone as I pull up to Finnick's house. Although we shared a lengthy goodbye, I'm counting the minutes until I can see her again. I eagerly slide my finger across the screen to answer her call, "Hey you. Miss me already?"

She cuts me off, and her voice is loud and frantic, "Peeta, Lady is missing again!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you so much to everyone for the patience and interest in this story! 
> 
> Thank you to our amazing beta, jennagill, and our wonderful pre-reader, desertginger, for their work and input on this chapter. Your help on this is always so important and appreciated.
> 
> All three of us are on tumblr and we would love to hear from you! I'm loveforpanem and my very talented co-authors and madefrommemoriesff and soamazinghere. 
> 
> Up next is our favorite little voyeur, Prim! ;)
> 
> Also, like everyone else we were shocked and devastated to hear about the untimely passing of Phillip Seymour Hoffman. Obviously, it's not much, but we wanted to make a little special note of him in this chapter and pay our respects. We are lucky to have had him play the role of Plutarch, and he will be greatly missed.


	16. Primrose

Chapter 16: Primrose

* * *

 

_“Primrose, dear, I’m_ always _here for you,” Effie explains to me, resting her hands gently on my shoulders. “Isn’t that enough?_

_I drop my gaze, unable to meet her eyes. This isn’t going at all how I’d hoped...I’m not trying to_ hurt _her. I’m just trying to get some answers._

_I think for a few more moments, struggling to find the right words, before finally raising my head. “I know, Effie, and I’m really grateful for everything you’ve done. I just miss my family,” I admit in a small voice._

_At those words, Effie rather dramatically places her hands over her heart, giving me a sympathetic look before enfolding me in her arms. “Of course you do, dear,” she assures me as she pats my back. “But they have their lives back on Earth to think about, and you’re here now.”_

_I know that, of course - how could I have missed the fact that I’m dead? - but she doesn’t realize that she’s misunderstanding me. That I’m not asking her about Katniss or Mom._

_“But...my dad,” I begin, my voice muffled by her shoulder. I feel her hand still, stopping it’s rhythmic patting on my back. “He’s here...isn’t he?” I ask the question, but I think the answer is a given. There’s nowhere else but “here” as far I as I know. He_ must _be here._

_After a long pause, Effie finally confirms, “He is.”_

_“Then why haven’t I seen him?” I whisper. When Effie doesn’t respond, I raise my head and look her in the face. I’ve been here for three months now, and even though I haven’t acknowledged it aloud, I’ve been waiting to see him. I just assumed I would. But I haven’t asked about him; for some reason, it didn’t feel right. But I honestly don’t think I can keep it in any longer. “Why hasn’t he come to see me?”_

_Effie sighs and looks away from me, releasing me from her grasp as she walks towards the large picture window that looks out over the street. “It’s...difficult to explain, Primrose,” she begins hesitantly._

_“Please, Effie,” I practically beg._

_Her back is facing me as she looks out the window in front of her. “There’s here,” she says, waving her hand in large circles through the air in front of her, “and then there’s_ here _.” She points at the floor and glances at me, laughing to herself as she sees the blank look on my face. She walks over and leads me back to the rose-colored loveseat that we’d been sitting on earlier. “Where are we right now?”_

_“Uh…” I stammer. “Your house?”_

_“Well, that’s one answer to that question,” she tells me. “But we’re also in the afterlife, or heaven, or whatever one chooses to call this place, correct?” I nod, and she continues. “Your father is here, in heaven, but he’s not...where we are.”_

_I furrow my brow in confusion. “Then where is he?” I ask slowly._

_Effie reaches over and smooths my hair, giving me a sad smile. “I wish I could tell you, dear. He’s been here for...how long did you say?”_

_“Seven years.”_

_“Oh, you were just a girl when he left,” she muses to herself. But soon she shakes her head and continues with her explanation. “Most likely, Primrose, he’s simply moved on. He’s not occupied with what’s happening back on Earth anymore; he’s left it behind completely.”_

_“But what does that mean?” I ask quickly. “He’s not watching Katniss or Mom? He’s not wondering about me?” My voice catches on my last words, and I glance away from Effie for a moment to compose myself._

_“It’s not that he doesn’t care, I’m certain,” Effie answers. “It’s just that he...no longer has any unfinished business there.”_

_Effie’s words, I know, are meant to be reassuring, but they’re just leaving me more confused. And to be perfectly honest, I’m feeling a little angry, although I’m not sure where my anger is directed. At Effie? My dad?_

_“Even after what happened to me?” I ask in a small voice, my eyes downcast._

_“Oh, Primrose,” she says, taking my hand in both of her own. “He didn’t know it was going to happen, and you know he couldn’t stop it.” I close my eyes, hating the reminder of how I ended up here. “He knows you’re safe here now.”_

_My eyes jolt open as a horrible, sickening thought overtakes me. “Did he...see what happened to me?”_

_Effie’s face pales as she considers my words. She shakes her head. “I don’t know.”_

_We’re both silent for a few moments. I try desperately to rid my mind of thoughts of what happened, of the things he might have seen. But I try to reassure myself that he must not have seen anything. Otherwise, of course he would’ve come to find me. Right?_

_“Was he ever here?” I ask finally, partially to distract myself and clear my head of the ugly thoughts. Effie cocks her head to the side, and I clarify my question. “I don’t mean here in your house. But here, with all of us who haven’t...moved on?”_

_Her eyes light up in understanding. “Almost certainly,” she confirms. “It’s hard to say why he left, though. Most people finally let go when they see things getting better back on Earth.”_

_I shake my head violently, even though I know Effie’s just speculating; she doesn’t know my family. “He couldn’t have left my mom the way she is. There has to be something else.”_

_“But he couldn’t help her,” Effie reminds me delicately. She bites her lip and stares at the ceiling for a moment before turning back to me. “And there are those who say that moving on can_ help _those you left behind, by weakening your bonds with the Earth. I mean,” she continues, clearing her throat and speaking quickly, “if you believe that sort of thing, and I do_ not _.”_

_I don’t pay attention to much of what she says; I recognize that this speculation about where my dad is, and why he may have “moved on” is pointless. He’s not here, and that’s all that matters. And neither of us know where he is anyway, or how to find him._

_“Will I ever see him?” I ask, trying to resign myself to the hopeless answer to come._

_“Maybe someday,” she answers perkily, but I can tell from the expression on her face that she doesn’t quite believe the words, even as she’s saying them. But she shakes her head and once again places her hands on my shoulders. “But you’re not ready to worry about that, dear. You’re still too focused on what’s going on down there.”_

* * *

Six years have passed, and Effie’s “maybe someday” rings more hollowly in my head than ever. I’ve still never found my dad, or he’s never found me, and I certainly don’t hold out much hope that I’ll ever see him. Even though I have all of eternity stretching out ahead of me.

I’m sure that Effie had no idea how often in my head I’ve replayed that conversation about my dad over the years. We never discussed it again, so I’m sure that as far as she knows, I’ve let it go.

Still, it’s six years after my death, and we’re still here. This _here_ that means that I haven’t moved on, that I’m still “too focused on what’s going on down there,” to use Effie’s own words. I remember when I told Effie that it had been seven years since Dad died, and she seemed so certain that he’d moved on. Well, I’ve been here almost as long as he had been, and I don’t see myself any closer to leaving than I was back then.

But I don’t really see any choice. Knowing that Dad’s not watching, if anything, has left me even more resolved to continue looking after Katniss and Mom. To keep trying to help them, as futile as that seems. Until I’m sure that they can move on, there’s no way that I can.

At least I have some hope, for the first time since I arrived here, in the form of Peeta Mellark. I don’t dare to be too optimistic, but I haven’t seen Katniss allow another human being to get as close to her since I died. Peeta’s perfect for her, and if she lets him in and starts truly living her own life again, I won’t care if they never find out what Snow did. As long as Katniss can move on, maybe I can too.

Sometimes seeing Katniss and Peeta together brings me right back to my dad again. I’d like him to see Katniss happy too, and to be there with me to cheer them on and watch them like they’re my favorite TV couple. Having Johanna around is great, don’t get me wrong...but sometimes when I’m at the lake, watching over them, I wish my dad were there with me, simply because I know he loves Katniss as much as I do.

I don’t understand how he could move on and stop watching over us. How could I ever want to give this up? It’s my only connection home. What more is there?

* * *

If I hadn’t been watching Katniss, I might not have known that Lady was missing. Now, I’m trying to find her, even though I don’t know what I’ll do if I succeed.

Honestly, I’m lucky that I decided to check in on Katniss when I did. Yesterday, I’d giddily followed Katniss after she got home from work, unable to contain my excitement as I watched her doing all the little things that showed me how much Peeta was worming his way under her skin: showering after work, wearing her hair down rather than just pulling it quickly into a braid, changing her clothes _more than once_ in front of the full-length mirror that I’d almost forgotten about on the back of her bedroom door. She obviously cared what he thought, and I was beside myself with joy.

I’d been sitting on the edge of the lake for a long time - legs crossed, elbows on knees, eyes wide - when Jo found me, just as Katniss and Peeta had started watching a movie. In her typical blunt fashion, she suggested that I better come home unless I was planning to “watch Brainless and Blondie fuck on his couch.” Obviously I wasn’t, but I was incredibly embarrassed that the thought of what might happen - which I never, _ever_ want to see - hadn’t occurred to me. Johanna has often accused me of being too “pure,” and instances like this aren’t helping me change her mind.

So, I ended up going home last night, spending the evening talking with Johanna and Madge, and planning not to check in with my sister and Peeta until morning. Late morning, even, to give them plenty of time to do _whatever_ they wanted to do. (And although I would never say this aloud, I hope that Jo was right about what she thought was going to happen last night.)

By the time afternoon rolled around, I decided it was safe to check on my sister, so I went to the lake to find her. But instead of finding her somewhere expected - with Peeta, or hanging out at home - I discovered her walking briskly through the streets of the Seam, periodically shouting Lady’s name while simultaneously having a frantic cell phone conversation with Gale, asking him to come help in her search.

When I first realized that Lady was missing, I wasn’t quite sure what to do. The rational part of me _knows_ that it’s not really possible for me to help...but there was no way I was going to just sit by and do nothing. I considered staying with Katniss, just trying to watch over her, but soon I felt frustrated. Katniss didn’t need me - Lady did. I decided to split up from my sister and search on my own.

That’s what I find myself doing now, but I still haven’t seen any sign of Lady. I can move so much more quickly than Katniss, can pop around town much more easily, but it hasn’t made a difference. I don’t know how long she’s been missing, or how far she could’ve gotten. All I know is that she’s not in any of the places where I thought I’d find her. The possibilities are dwindling, and I have a very bad feeling that I know where she is.

And when I take myself back to Capitol Drive - for the first time in six years - my suspicions are immediately confirmed. “No, Lady,” I cry out without thinking. The brief pause in her trot makes me wonder if she heard me, but I’m sure she didn’t when I see her continue, heading on a determined path to the last place in the world I want her to go: Snow’s house.

I move forward, scooting on my knees closer and closer to the water’s edge, as if it could bring me closer to Lady. I call out to her a few more times, praying that maybe she’ll hear me, but she never again deviates from her path. And I’m powerless to do anything but watch.

As Lady steps onto the lawn in front of Snow’s house, I expect to see her take her time, investigate, sniff out her new surroundings. But I’m surprised to see her ignore most of the plants and rocks around her and make her way directly to one particular bush in front of Snow’s house: the primrose.

In my family, my dad and Katniss were the ones who took a keen interest in plants and trees and everything else you find out in nature; as for me, I could barely recognize the trees in my own front yard growing up. But this is one of the few plants I know. I’ve never forgotten it from the day that Dad first showed it to me, when I was just a little girl. And when I was in third grade, he planted some for me in front of our house, and I grew up watching them bloom every summer.

But this particular bush, even though it looks just like the ones at our house in the Seam, is inextricably associated with my death. I know that the clothes I was wearing when I died lie just beneath the soil there, that the bush itself is some sort of creepy memorial to me. Maybe Snow feels a little sense of accomplishment whenever he looks at it. I don’t know why he did it, but I wonder now if it was such a good idea for him. I think that, somehow, Lady knows something’s buried underneath it. Because after only a few short moments of sniffing the bush, she starts digging. And I’m pretty sure she’s looking for something specific.

I’m so caught up in watching Lady dig, and dig, and dig, that I don’t even notice Snow emerge from the house until I’m jarred from my reverie by the click of the front door closing behind him. I barely get a look at him, though - just enough to recognize that _it’s him_ \- before my fight or flight response kicks in. As much as I want to leave, want to run back to the cabin as fast as I possibly can and slam the door shut behind me, I stay. I have to be with Lady right now.

Unfortunately, Lady didn’t seem to notice the sound of the door closing, and she either doesn’t see or doesn’t care that an unfamiliar man is standing on the porch right now watching her. Why hasn’t she noticed anything? Why won’t she even look up? “Lady!” I yell, knowing that she can’t hear me. “Run! _Please!_ ” My voice rises and get more frantic with each word. I don’t know what’s going to happen...but nothing good can come of Snow being here.

But Lady just keeps digging. It’s those stupid clothes. I don’t know how she knows they’re there - after all, they’re sealed in plastic, and it’s been six years - but she must be trying to find them. Or more likely, trying to find _me_. “There’s nothing there, Lady!” I shout, clenching my fists and feeling more helpless than I have in the entire six years I’ve been here. What’s buried under that bush is not what she’s looking for.

A few minutes pass, and oddly, Snow doesn’t move. He just stands there watching Lady dig, with an unreadable look on his face. I’ve stopped yelling; Lady can’t hear me, and I have to keep my wits about me and see what happens next.

When Snow does finally move, I tense up instinctively, but I relax a bit when he doesn’t approach Lady at all. He walks away from her, in fact, taking slow and halting steps towards a small berry bush on the other side of the yard. The effort looks painful, but he lowers himself to his knees in front of the plant, reaching inside and picking of few of the ripest-looking of the purple berries.

Lady still hasn’t spared him even a sideways glance, and she remains intent on her digging, so I continue watching him, puzzled. Snow turns slightly and places something on the ground in front of him; I didn’t notice it before, but he was carrying a small plastic bag in his hand the entire time. I can’t see what’s in it until Snow pulls out a chunk. It’s a whitish-yellowish color, and I’m still uncertain what it is exactly until I see Snow push a finger into it, making a small hole. Then he stuffs a berry inside. As he does this a few more times with several more of the small white chunks, I finally figure out what it is: cheese. But he’s not eating it...in fact, what he’s doing looks strikingly similar to what Katniss and I used to do to give Lady pills.

After he’s prepared all of the blocks of cheese in a similar manner, Snow struggles to his feet. Baggie in hand, he finally turns his attention back to Lady. I don’t know what to think as he cautiously approaches her. He doesn’t seem to have any weapons on him, and I can’t believe that he has the strength to overpower her against her will...all he has is a bag of snacks. So what exactly is he doing?

Lady doesn’t let him get too close; I let out a sigh of relief when I see her turn to him and growl as menacingly as she can when she finally chooses to acknowledge his proximity. He stops in his tracks when she does that, but it doesn’t seem to frighten him. In fact, he almost seems to have expected this reaction. He empties the cheese pieces into his palm, staring at them for a brief moment before tossing them carefully in her direction.

He’s _feeding_ her?

The cheese lands on the ground near Lady’s feet, and even though she’s still diligently digging up the primrose bush, she doesn’t ignore it for long. I’m not at all surprised; she never could resist cheese on the rare occasions when Katniss or I gave her some. Even though she seemed distrustful of Snow - and rightfully so - the lure of the cheese is too powerful to her. After a few sniffs, she gobbles it up and then returns to her task.

In the meantime, Snow has retreated to his front porch, sinking carefully into a rocking chair. He keeps his eyes trained on Lady, a small smile flitting over his lips. It’s almost as if he’s _enjoying_ watching her dig up the primrose bush, but I don’t understand why - if she succeeds, she could uncover evidence linking him to my death. I’m nervous, but...drained. I don’t know what to do except sit and watch.

I’m so wrapped up in my thoughts, trying to figure out what Snow is doing, that it takes me a few moments before I notice that Lady doesn’t seem quite right. She slowed down her digging considerably, and keeps lying down and then struggling to stand back up, over and over again. I gasp as I look more closely and notice that she seems to be foaming at the mouth. “Lady,” I exclaim helplessly. What’s going on? _What did he do?_

Lady’s stopped digging now entirely, and seems to be devoting all of her energy to simply making an effort to stand. “Come on, girl,” I plead. “You can do it!” Tears start streaming down my face when I realize that she can no longer stay on her feet at all...and after a few more attempts to rise, she gives up. She lies down and...just goes to sleep. Or at least, that’s what I’m trying to convince myself.

I keep my eyes trained on Lady, silently willing her to move; I don’t even care if she gets up and tries to run away, I’d be happy just seeing one twitch, one tiny sign that she’s still there. I’m so focused on Lady that I don’t even notice that Snow has left his porch. He approaches Lady without hesitation - a far cry from just a few minutes ago, when he fed her the cheese - and reaches down to pick her up. It seems to be a huge effort for him, and when he does it, I start to feel sick when I see how limp and lifeless her body is in his arms.

I can’t take it any longer. “Leave her alone!” I scream. There’s no one at the lake to hear me, but unfortunately no one on Earth can hear me either. “Put her down!” I say, sobbing. I don’t know what’s wrong, but I don’t want him touching her. It’s not his place. He hurt her. I don’t know exactly what he did, but I _know_ he hurt her.

Snow’s carries Lady to his SUV, which I notice now, angrily, he’s prepared to receive her. The back door is already wide open, and a plastic sheet has been laid down behind the back row of seats. He’s planned for this. He’s going to take her somewhere.

He places Lady, still asleep, on the plastic and then shuts the car door behind her. I assume he’s going to leave immediately - although I have no idea where he’s planning to go - but I’m wrong. Snow, acting as if he has all the time in the world, walks slowly to his backyard and gathers his gloves and some gardening tools. He spends several minutes fixing the soil that Lady had dug around the primrose bush, ensuring that it returns to it’s pristine state, and then carefully spreading mulch around it. By the time he finishes, it looks no different than all the other eclectic plants that live in his yard. There’s absolutely no indication at all that Lady had ever been there.

Finally, Snow puts away his gardening supplies, cleans up, and gets in his car. I can’t see her, but I know that something is horribly wrong with Lady. She hasn’t made a sound since he put her in the SUV. I follow him as he drives away.

The drive he takes isn’t a long one, and in fact, I know these streets very well. _He’s going to the Seam_ , I think to myself, still utterly confused. I briefly panic as he gets closer and closer to my house, until I check and see that Mom and Katniss aren’t home. Mom must be working; Katniss is probably still out looking for Lady. I choke back more tears at the thought - how will Katniss react when she finds out that Lady’s gone too?

Snow drives down the street slowly; I assume he’s looking for signs of life at home or in the other nearby houses. When he’s satisfied that he’s alone, he parks the car in front of my house, opening the back of the SUV and lifting Lady out. He moves as quickly as he can to the backyard, entering through the gate that Katniss left open for Lady, leaving her near the fence. He _wants_ Katniss to find Lady. I wonder if he knows how this is going to destroy her.

I let Snow go without another glance. It’s my job to stay with Lady now until someone gets home to find her. I just don’t want her to be alone.

I try whispering to her, to let her know that I’m here, but she never moves.

* * *

Hours have passed. I’m back home, back at the cabin, sitting in the kitchen and slowly eating a bowl of chicken soup that Johanna made for me. I’m not really tasting any of it as it goes down, and I’m too numb right now to even have the presence of mind to know whether I’m hungry or not. She put it in front of me, and I’m eating it.

After I saw what Snow did to Lady, I laid down on the shore of the lake and wept. The tears stopped eventually, but only because I was too tired to cry anymore. Certainly not because I felt better. It’s actually been a long time since I felt this desolate, for so many reasons. Not just because of what happened to Lady.

More than anything, I’m worried now about what’s going to happen to Katniss. I worry because Snow’s managed to take away yet another of her loved ones, even if she doesn’t know that. I worry because I realize that, in many ways, Lady helped her get through the hard times surrounding my death. And I worry that this one incident, as horrible as it is, will erase all the progress I’ve seen Katniss make over the past few months.

I never did see what happened to Lady. When Jo found me, still lying on the ground next to the lake, Lady was still exactly where Snow had left her. But Mom was still at work, and Katniss was still out searching, so no one had found her yet. I didn’t want to leave, but Jo somehow managed to convince me that there was nothing I could accomplish by staying. That whatever Snow did couldn’t be undone now.

“Keep eating, Prim,” Jo says, nudging my shoulder as she walks past. “Don’t waste all that food I just made,” she admonishes me.

My eyes focus on my bowl of soup. “Oh, right,” I respond, automatically raising the spoon to my mouth and taking a small sip. It’s warmth feels undeniably comforting as I swallow, but I find myself wanting to talk rather than eat. “I have no idea what he did,” I say suddenly, not really sure whether I’m making a statement or making a poor attempt to ask a question. “I mean...I just...it had to be what he fed her…” I close my eyes as I trail off, not sure that I can bring myself to describe what I saw. Thankfully, Johanna doesn’t seem to need to hear the specifics.

“It doesn’t even matter,” she states matter-of-factly. “You know he killed her, but you can’t go back in time and undo it. But...maybe this’ll give the police some evidence to use against the bastard. How could he do all that without anyone noticing?”

I sigh and lean forward, placing my elbows on the table, my long hair falling forward around my face. “I don’t know, Jo. I didn’t see anyone around, but - ” I stop talking when I notice a strange look cross Johanna’s face, as she twists in her seat and looks towards the front door. “What? What is it?” I ask.

She holds a finger up in the air, telling me to be quiet as she sits and listens for a moment. I don’t hear anything. “Nothing, I guess,” she answers finally. “What were you saying?” she says as she turns back to face me.

“Just that he seemed to be alone the entire time. As unlikely as that seems,” I respond in frustration. “How does he get so - ”

This time I hear it. A faint, tentative scratching sound, coming from our front porch. I furrow my brow, trying to make sense of the sounds I’m hearing. Johanna wears a similar look on her face. “Something’s outside,” she mutters.

“Yeah,” I breathe. There are animals around in the nearby woods, just as if we were back on Earth, but they’ve never come this close to the house before. And even if they did, they can’t hurt us, so it’s not like this is worrisome. It’s just...weird. “I’m going to take a look,” I tell her, pushing back my chair and standing up.

My steps towards the front door are hesitant at first, but after a minute, I’m overtaken by a strange, eager feeling. I move faster and faster, until I fling open the front door and a blur of brown and black fur comes rushing towards me. I know who it is instantly.

“Lady!” I shriek, wrapping my arms around her as she covers my face in kisses. I keep repeating her name, over and over, as I run my hands over her fur…it feels just exactly like I remember. Everything about her is just like I remember. And she clearly hasn’t forgotten me either. How did she find me here?

“You’re really here,” I mumble under my breath. She’s here now...which means she’s safe. And I hope it means she can stay with me. Laughter and tears simultaneously bubble to the surface as I realize that I finally have a piece of home here with me. The only thing tempering my elation is the knowledge that having Lady here means that Katniss has lost her. Just like she lost Dad...just like she lost me.

I hug Lady to me more tightly than before, vowing to never let her out of my sight. I just wish it didn’t feel so selfish to be happy right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so incredibly sorry for how long it’s been since the last chapter! It is entirely, 100% my fault. But in the time since the last chapter came out, I sold a house, bought another, and moved to a new state, so…phew! It’s been exhausting. But thankfully that’s over and I’m going to try to write faster in the future. 
> 
> You can thank jennagill (fantastic beta) and desertginger (awesome pre-reader) for helping move this along. They both turned around the chapter very quickly when I sent it to them – thank you both so much!
> 
> If you want to come berate me on tumblr, I’m soamazinghere. If you want to say nice things to my lovely, patient co-authors, they are loveforpanem and madefrommemoriesff.


	17. Katniss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: more than half this chapter deals heavily in the subject of pet loss which could be triggering to some of you and may be really heavy, emotionally speaking. However there are no graphic descriptions of anything physical involving Lady's death; most of the chapter is Katniss' reaction to it.

Chapter 17: Katniss

* * *

 

“Peeta, Lady is missing again!” I barely recognize my own voice, shaky and high-pitched as I yell into the phone.

“Shit,” Peeta replies succinctly, his voice shifting into cop mode. “Any idea how long she’s been gone?” There’s rustling on the other end of the line and I know without having to ask that he’s pulling on his coat.

I rake a hand through my hair, fingers fisting in the strands at the base of my head, pulling tight, hard enough to hurt. “Mom said she’s been out all morning. I should’ve known better than to leave Lady alone with her!”

“Shh Katniss, it’s okay, we’ll find her, all right?” Peeta’s voice is soothing, his confidence calming the frantic beat of my heart. “I’m on my way over. I’ll bring the missing flyers I made last time she ran off.”

“Thank you,” I manage to choke out, and then I’m hanging up, tapping out a text message to Gale with shaking fingers. I have to try four times before I get all the words spelled correctly, my thumb slipping over the touchscreen. Gale replies quickly in the affirmative, and I find myself pacing the front yard while I wait for my friends to show up.

The discovery that Lady has once again escaped the yard leaves me frantic. In all the years that we’ve had her she’s never pulled anything like this before, until she did so recently. What changed? I know the answer but I don’t want to think too hard on it, visions of cold blue eyes and a yellow nylon rope binding Lady’s muzzle cruelly shut swimming before my eyes, the veiled threat in Snow’s seemingly innocuous words echoing in my ears.

Gale and Hazelle arrive first, and Peeta shows up only a few minutes later, parking his ugly police issue sedan behind Gale’s truck. Everyone takes a stack of Peeta’s flyers and we split up; Mom and Hazelle go door-to-door in our neighborhood, Gale to the woods, and Peeta and I driving separately to other parts of town. I drive Dad’s truck up and down the streets, windows rolled down and calling her name, ignoring the strange looks that strangers cast my direction. I head for Capitol Drive, knowing that’s where she went last time, and certain that’s where she would go again.

My heart is hammering in my chest as I make the turn onto Capitol Drive, my fingers white-knuckled on the steering wheel. Dad’s truck crawls past Snow’s house and I crane my neck to peer into the immaculately groomed yard, but the garden is untouched, no telltale spray of dirt, no dog, and no Snow. The windows are dark inside his house, the curtains drawn and his driveway is empty; no sign of the fancy SUV that had been parked here last time I was here. The whole property is still and silent.

I should be relieved but I can’t push the fear out of my mind. If Lady isn’t here, then where is she?

I circle the block to be sure, but Lady doesn’t appear, not even when I pass by Snow’s house on the way out of the cul de sac. I glance down at my phone where I’d flung it onto the passenger seat but it remains ominously dark and silent; no one else has any news either.

“Fuck.” I fight to slow my breathing, forcing down the panic building under my ribcage as I loop back around, deciding to check our house and see if she’s miraculously made her way back home before heading out again.

Lady’s not at our house either, not waiting on the step or trotting down the street or sprawled out on the grass. I slam the truck into park, shoving my phone back in my pocket as I go, and run up the steps and straight into the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water from the tap and chugging it while fighting desperately not to spill. The empty glass goes back in the sink and I scoop my keys off the counter to get back to the search.

And as I turn away from the sink, something in the back yard catches my eye through the kitchen window – a flash of black and brown out of place on the new grass.

“Lady!” Her name bursts from my lips before I can stop myself, and I yank the back door open with more force than is necessary, rushing to her side. I know as soon as the door is open that something is wrong, when she doesn’t leap to her feet and run to greet me with happy licks and wagging tail. She just lays there, and my heart drops out of my chest even as I lurch to my knees beside her.

I’m almost afraid to touch her, my hands shaking when I slide my fingers into her soft fur. Underneath my hands her body is stiff and unresponsive, but I don’t want to think about what that might mean - _can’t_ think about what that might mean.

“Lady?” I ask, hating the tremor in my voice. “Lady get up.” She doesn’t move, doesn’t even lift her head. I shove my hands underneath her, holding her like a child in my arms, ignoring how she doesn’t move, doesn’t struggle against being held in such an indignified way. The back gate is closed, but somehow I manage to get it unlatched, shoving it open with my shoulder and getting Lady into the truck.

“Hang on, girl,” I say, jumping up into the drivers’ seat and starting the truck back up. “I’m getting you help.”

* * *

The vet’s office is about fifteen minutes away from my house by car. I know from all the times I’ve had to take Lady in for her yearly shots before I had to rush off to work at The Hob, timing it down to the minute so I could cram as many things into one day as I can and still make it on time for my shift.

It’s fifteen minutes from my house to the vet - but I make it in seven.

Dad’s truck screams to a halt in the parking lot, and I’ve barely got it in park and the keys out of the ignition before I’m leaping out, slamming the door behind me, and pulling Lady out of the back seat. I push carelessly past a wide-eyed woman with a cat carrier in her hand as she comes out the door, barely registering her disgruntled huff at my rudeness as I force my way up to the counter.

“I need help! There’s something wrong with my dog!”

The technicians in their brightly colored scrubs behind the reception desk leap to their feet, cheerful demeanors and smiling faces disappearing behind practiced efficiency as they spring into action. I don’t want to let go of Lady, I want to come with them and know that they’re taking care of her but a third nurse comes out of the back and gently holds me back while the other two ease my dog out of my grasp and take her to the back, mumbling calming things in a low, soothing voice that washes aimlessly over me. Somehow, she manages to sit me down in one of the waiting room chairs, assuring me that Dr. Aurelius will take good care of her.

“What’s your name, dear?”

_I’m not your dear,_ I think dully, _you don’t even know me,_ but I answer “Katniss Everdeen,” my voice wooden in my own ears. From far away, I hear the tapping of her keyboard as she types my name into her computer, and she must manage to find Lady’s file because she gets up from her chair, taking it to the back to give it to the doctor.

I stare at the door that they took Lady through for so long that my eyes start to burn, long after the kindly nurse comes back through the door and sits back down at her desk. I drop my face into my hands, pressing the heels of my palms into my eyelids until I see spots.

_I should tell everyone_ , I remember dimly, and fumble my phone out of my pocket to text Peeta and Gale.

**_Found Lady,_** I type out, **_At the vet,_** and hit send, curling my arms around my chest as if that will hold me together as I wait. My phone vibrates in my palm almost immediately afterwards, two quick buzzes in rapid succession.

**_PEETA: What happened? Do you need me to come there?_ **

**_GALE: I’ll tell our moms then come 2 the vet._ **

I shake my head. What’s the point in either of them coming all the way over here? It’s not as if there’s anything they can do. **_No point just go home. text u later._**

I’m restless as I wait for the vet to come out with my dog, tell me she’s going to be fine and slap me with a vet bill that will likely cost more than three months worth of utilities. My feet won’t stop tapping, my fingers combing through my hair and gradually working my braid loose in its tie, and when the strands slip out of the plait, I coil them around my fingers, staring without seeing at a waiting room floor scuff mark.

Finally the door swings open, startling me out of my thoughts, and I look up to see Dr. Aurelius making his way towards me, alone. His kindly face is grim, his normally neat salt and pepper hair disheveled and out of place, and that, more than anything is what scares me.  

“Miss Everdeen?” he asks gravely, and I shove myself to my feet, a violent movement.

My throat closes, fear suffocating me. “That’s me,” I manage to choke out.

“I’m so sorry-” he says, and the rest of his words disappear in a rush of sound as I sway on my feet, reeling backwards as if struck. He grabs me by the arms, concern lighting up his features as he guides me back into my chair, his hands tight and grounding against my flesh.

“- there was nothing we could do,” he’s saying as he sits down beside me. “She was gone before we even started working on her.”

I shake my head violently, the end of my braid whipping against my shoulder blades. “No.” She can’t be dead. She can’t. I need my dog; she’s all I have left.

But I knew it - deep down I knew it as soon as I saw her lying in the backyard. She wouldn’t lie there if she knew I was home. She wouldn’t have stayed quiet when she heard my voice, felt my hand in her fur. She would have leapt up to lean against my side, to lick my fingers and look up at me with soulful, trusting eyes.

“I’m very sorry for your loss,” the doctor says, and I lower my face into my hands, an almost physical pain lancing through my stomach. His hand drops down onto my shoulder and squeezes, a solid weight that I’m sure is meant to be reassuring.

I can feel myself flying apart inside, coming apart at the seams. I want to rip and scream and tear, to yank at my own hair and lash out with my fists. My fingers tighten in the hair at my temples and I squeeze, the pain grounding me until I can find the words that will calm my frantic, scattered mind.

_My name is Katniss Everdeen_. _I am twenty four years old. I live on Seam Street in the town of Panem. Prim disappeared nearly six years ago and is believed to be dead. My dog is named Lady… and now she's dead too._

Something settles inside me when I replay those last words, a cold sort of calm pooling in my chest. Prim is dead and Lady is dead and Snow has something to do with it. Lady knew. She knew there was something wrong with that guy. The first time she broke out, she went to his house, and I know without a doubt that that’s where she went this time. She was a healthy dog, never had any problems beyond one bout of kennel cough when she was two, and the gate was closed when I found her, so someone must have put her there.

Snow did something to her… I just need to find out what.

When I finally look up, Dr. Aurelius is still watching me, probably expecting me to burst into tears or faint or something, but I’m under control now. “I want an autopsy,” I say, my voice hollow.

The vet nods. “We can certainly discuss that. It is an additional expense -” he starts, but I interrupt him, standing swiftly. His hand falls from my shoulder to lie ineffectually in his lap.

“I don’t care.” It’s probably more than I can afford but I need proof of what I know Snow did. I’ll work extra shifts, maybe eat ramen noodles for lunch for a few weeks. “I want an autopsy,” I repeat sharply.

“Alright,” the doctor replies, placating. He rises and turns to the technician behind the counter who’s watching me with pity that I don’t want or need, and instructs her to schedule an autopsy. He mumbles his apologies, to which I give a curt nod, and he disappears back behind the door to the back room.

When I leave the vet’s office five minutes later, it is with a bill for $637.87 I don’t have. It’s with a promise that they’ll call me as soon as the autopsy results come back in. It’s with a cold kind of numbness seeping into my limbs from the center of my chest.

And it’s without my dog.

\-------

I find myself outside of Peeta’s house, hammering on his front door, Dad’s truck parked crookedly in front of his lawn. I shift from foot to foot as I wait for him to answer, impatient and antsy with tension that has no outlet.

Finally the door swings open to reveal him, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, his blonde hair disheveled as if he hadn’t had time to comb it, and he pushes opens the screen to welcome me. His smile drops off when he catches sight of my face.

“Katniss?”  he asks tentatively, his voice edged in alarm. “Is Lady okay? What happened at the vet?”

I shake my head, stepping into the house, swallowing hard around the lump in my throat and fighting to control the sob I can feel building in my chest. “She’s- she died,” I manage to choke out.

“Oh Katniss, I’m so sorry,” Peeta says, aghast. “What happened?”

“I don’t know. She-” I cut myself off as tears spring to my eyes, struggling to maintain what little calm I’m still clinging to. I take a deep, shaky breath.

Peeta seems to realize that I’m barely holding it together and reaches out and drags me forward against his chest. “Shh, it’s okay. You don’t have to tell me now.” Strong arms circle me, holding me tight against his body, his hands splayed against my back.

Peeta’s hands are warm, and his chest is solid and sturdy up against mine, his heartbeat slow and steady. Under his touch, I feel my tenuous control slip, the frigid calm I’d found in the vet’s office draining away with my anger, replaced with an aching emptiness with ragged edges. I don’t realize my eyes are blurry until the tears are already spilling over, soaking Peeta’s shirt. My body starts to shake, only Peeta’s strong hold keeping me in one piece. Wet sobs tear out of my chest wracking my body until I can barely breath.

“Breathe, Katniss, I’m here.” Peeta’s voice is low and soothing, his hands rubbing wide, firm circles on my back.

“She’s dead!”  I cry again, and I don’t know if I mean Prim or Lady. My hands close convulsively around handfuls of Peeta’s soft grey t-shirt, and he just holds me tighter.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs into my hair. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Eventually my sobs quiet enough that I can breathe again, and I become aware of the mess I’ve made of Peeta’s shirt. I feel disgusting and weak for losing it like that, and I push away from him far enough that I can wipe my face with my hand and look up at him. “Sorry,” I say, and my voice comes out raw and used.

He shakes his head. “You don’t have to apologize, Katniss. You don’t have to be strong all the time.” His hands slide up to cup my face, his big thumbs sliding across my cheeks to wipe away the tears that are still squeezing out of my eyes.

“Come with me,” Peeta says, sliding his hands out from around me and taking my hand instead. He leads me to his living room couch and I fall more than sit down, flopping weakly against the cushions and drawing my knees up to my chest. He tugs the blanket off the back of the couch and tucks it in around me, bending at the waist to press a kiss to the top of my head. “I’ll be right back.”

Peeta comes back a few minutes later with a mug of herbal tea - chamomile and lemon, by the smell - the tea bag still steeping in the hot water. He presses the cup into my hand and sits down beside me, sliding his arm around my shoulders and pulling me into his side. I feel weak for needing this but I can’t bring myself to pull away, instead letting myself sink into his warmth.

I sip my tea in silence, the lemon soothing my throat and the chamomile calming my hectic mind. Slowly my tears dry, and I feel the tension draining out of my body until I’m slumped against Peeta’s side, my head resting against his chest . Peeta doesn’t try to push me for information, doesn’t try to get me to talk, just sits quietly, his hand warm and firm against my arm, his face pressed to my hair. Somehow, Peeta always seems to know what I need, without me ever having to say it.

Finally, I’m the one to break the silence. “She was at home and the gate was closed when I found her. Someone put her back in the yard and by the time I got her to the vet she was already dead.”

I feel Peeta’s lips against my hair. “I’m so sorry, Katniss,” he says quietly, his hand squeezing my arm. I grab for his free hand where it rests against his thigh and thread our fingers together, clutching tightly.

“You know, all I can see is Lady when she was a puppy, when –“ I suck in a shaky breath- “when Prim and I brought her home. It was a surprise for Prim, getting a dog. After our dad died. I never even wanted one but I knew Prim would love it and I couldn’t stand to see her sad. So I loaded her into the truck and didn’t even tell her where we were going and she had no idea until I pulled into the lot at the shelter in Pittsburgh.” I feel my lips twitch in a sad parody of a smile, remembering Prim’s face, how she’d jumped around and hugged me so tight I could barely breathe. How both of us knew the second that we saw Lady that she was the one.

“Prim named her,” I continue as Peeta’s fingers trail soothing lines up and down my arm. “I thought it was the dumbest name at first but she was Prim’s dog and Prim was adamant. And it suited her, in a weird way, once she finally grew out of the awkward puppy stage.” A short huff of laughter bursts past my lips as I remember. “That first day, Prim started teaching her tricks. I wanted to teach her ‘sit’ but Prim just wanted her to do cutesy things. She taught her ‘rollover’ instead. It was so useless, but it made me so fucking happy to see Prim laugh when she would do it.”

I bite the inside of my cheek to fight off tears again, the tiny hint of a smile on my lips twisting bitterly. “She was the best dog, Peeta. The best dog. After Prim -” my throat closes up and the tears spill over, silent tracks making their way down my cheeks to drip onto my shirt. “She just - she was always there, you know? Whenever I needed her. Sometimes she was all I had. And now she’s-”

My voice cracks on the last word and I inhale on a shaking sob. Peeta draws me in, pulling me tighter against him and releasing my hand so he can wrap both arms around me again. He presses his lips to my hair and holds me, rocking me slightly as I sob against him.

I sit there in the circle of Peeta’s arms, letting him comfort me with his body against me and the warmth of his breath in my hair. The tears wash down my face unchecked and I don’t try to stop them, weeping for my poor dead dog who was never anything but good and innocent, who comforted me when I had nightmares and was always there to come home to, who was there for me when I missed my sister.

It’s nice, I realize with a start, curled up here against Peeta, wrapped up in his heat, drowning in the steady beat of his heart beneath my ear. I should tell Peeta my suspicions about Snow’s hand in her death, about the autopsy I ordered to prove it. I should get his focus and mine on my dead sister and my dead dog, but I can’t find the strength to do it. Right now, I want to be selfish, to feel sorry for myself and take what comfort I can from Peeta, who is warm and good and _here_.  His body against mine is intoxicating and distracting, his mouth moving against my hair sending sparks of heat down my spine. So I stop thinking about Lady, shying away from the pain and moving towards Peeta.

Peeta stills against my side when I turn my head to drag my lips along the exposed skin above the collar of his t-shirt. I part my lips and press a kiss to his throat, feeling it move against my mouth as he swallows dryly.

“Katniss…” he breathes as my mouth moves up the column of his throat to press gentle, sucking kisses underneath his jaw. “What are you doing?”

“Shhh,” I whisper, hushing him. I slide my hand up his chest to cup his jaw, pulling back far enough that I can look into his eyes. His eyes are dark, the blue swallowed up by black, and he licks dry lips as his eyes flicker over me.

I lean in, capturing his lips with my own, sighing as he kisses back and opens at the tease of my tongue. My hands slide into his hair and he stifles a moan, his hands tightening around me and drawing me closer.  I let myself melt against him, his body firm against my own, and suddenly kisses aren’t enough; I need the comfort of skin on skin, of his hands everywhere, his body surrounding me and filling me.

“Peeta,” I breathe, heat pooling low in my belly when his breath catches at the sound, and I rise up on my knees, throwing a leg over his lap to straddle him. His hands slide up to grip my hips, and when I roll my hips down to press tight against him, he groans. He kisses me hungrily, his tongue flicking against mine, but when my hands go to the hem of his shirt, he stops me, his hands closing around my wrists.

“Katniss, stop,” he says, his voice rough.

My brow furrows as I look down at him, my fingers still tangled in the soft fabric of his t-shirt. “Why?”

He closes his eyes and shakes his head, biting his lip as if looking at me is too much temptation. “Because you’re hurting right now.” His fingers tighten convulsively on mine. “It wouldn’t be right.”

Embarrassment rushes through me and I sit back in his lap, looking away from his gaze. “You don’t want to.” I know he’s probably right, as little as I might want to acknowledge it, but the rejection still hurts more than it should.

“Oh god- that’s not-” Peeta combs a hand roughly through his hair, tilting his head to look up at the ceiling. When he looks back down at me, he cups my chin and gently turns my head so I meet his eyes. “I want to, Katniss, believe me. So badly.” His voice is fervent, his fingers pressing gently into my jaw. “But it wouldn’t be right to do this when you’re vulnerable like this.”

“Peeta, please,” I whisper, and I hate begging but I can’t stop myself. “I know what I’m doing. I want this. I need this.”

Peeta shakes his head, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, but the hand still around my wrist tightens and I can almost see him warring with himself. “Are you sure?” he asks, his voice husky with desire.

I nod, pressing myself close to him, my lips skimming his jaw. Two last tears squeeze out of my eyes as I whisper brokenly into his ear, “I need you, Peeta, please.”

It’s the truth.

Something in my voice must convince him, because Peeta gives in with a groan, releasing my wrists and turning his head to capture my lips. This time I manage to get his t-shirt over his head, tossing it heedlessly to the side, followed by my own. I’m frantic, kissing him hard as soon as he’s free of the t-shirt, but he cups my cheek, his thumb stroking over my cheekbone and slowing me down, the touch firm and grounding.

Then Peeta’s mouth is on my skin, kissing down my neck between my breasts and over the frantic beat of my heart. I comb my fingers through his hair, arching into the touch of his lips. His arms curl tightly around me, hands splayed and fingers pressing gently into my skin and under his touch, I start to tremble. It’s been a long time since I wanted anyone this badly, and the need fighting it’s way through my body is vast and terrifying.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice low, breath fanning out over my skin and I nod, rolling my hips down against his and gasping at the pressure of his erection against my center. He clutches me tighter and mouths at my collar bone, squeezing his eyes shut at the sensation and rocking up into me in response.

His lips find mine again, his tongue slipping into my mouth, but when I reach for his fly he pulls back. “Wait, Katniss,” he whispers, kissing the hollow of my throat where my pulse beats wildly. He stands and I slide from his lap, but he catches my hand, fingers sliding into the spaces between his, and tugs me down the hall into his bedroom.

I slide backwards onto his bed, and Peeta’s eyes meet mine as he undoes the button on my jeans and tugs them down my legs, pressing a kiss to the bone of my ankle as they slide free. My socks are next, and then I’m lying there in my underwear, tensing under his gaze.

Peeta yanks off his own jeans and returns to the bed in only his boxers, his body hard and hot against my own. I tug him down on top of me, moving to capture his lips with mine, swallowing his moan as he rolls his hips, his arousal pressing against me and sending jolts of desire racing through my belly.

His hands are everywhere, big and warm against my skin. One of them slides into my hair while the other strokes over my hip, tightening briefly over the curve before he skims up to graze the skin below my breast with his thumb. His touch is gentle, teasing, and every movement of his fingers leaves behind tendrils of heat under my skin, racing and caressing.

My bra and panties and Peeta’s boxers join the rest of our clothes on the floor and then he’s hovering over me, his body a long unbroken line of heat against my skin. He pauses to dig a condom from the nightstand and to roll it on but then he’s pushing slowly into me, thrusting into the tight heat of my body and kissing me everywhere he can reach.

I forget about everything, pushing aside the pain and loss and loneliness that threatens to engulf me, and lose myself in Peeta instead. My senses are filled with him, the smell of his shampoo and the sweat on his skin, the wet heat of his mouth against my throat, his hardness filling me, his hands tangling in my hair and stroking over my breast and down my side. I lift my hips to meet his slow thrusts, arching against the solid weight of his body above me, drinking in his gasps and choked off moans as he swallows my own. He keeps me hovering on the edge of bliss, pushing me higher and higher until I come with his name on my lips, clutching desperately at his shoulders as he follows me over the edge.

Afterwards, when we’re lying tangled together, my body still tingling with little sparks of pleasure, he draws me into his chest and presses a kiss to my temple. “Go to sleep, Katniss,” he says. “I’ll take care of you.” I smile against his chest at the words, feeling his slow, steady heartbeat beneath my cheek. My limbs are heavy, my whole body warm, and the gentle, soothing stroke of his hands over my back lulls me into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

The next several nights after Lady’s death, I find myself at Peeta’s house. I check in with my mother every day unless Hazelle is going over, make sure she’s eating, but afterwards, I always wind up knocking on his door, falling into bed with him, and sleeping in his arms. With him there, it’s the best I’ve slept in as long as I can remember, at least since before Prim died. There are no nightmares waking me in the middle of the night, no sitting up soaked in sweat with a scream building in my throat. I wake up to strong arms wrapped around me, Peeta’s lips against my hair as he reaches across me to silence his alarm.

But when I’m awake, when I’m not with him, Lady is constantly on my mind - Lady and Prim and Snow and how they must be connected; they have to be. The vet had told me it could be up to a week before Lady’s autopsy results come back but I still find myself ducking into the break room at work more often than usual to check my phone. I take to keeping it on me as I work, constantly on vibrate, shoved in my back pocket.

Cinna has me cleaning glasses Thursday afternoon. It’s a slow day, just him and I running the place and only a few customers to keep an eye on, when my phone starts vibrating in my back pocket. The second buzz proves it’s not a text, and I yank it out, turning it hastily the right way up to answer it.

“Hello?” I ask breathlessly.

“Hello, Miss Everdeen? This is Dr. Aurelius from the Panem Veterinary Clinic.”

My heart leaps painfully in my chest. “Yes?”

“I just wanted to let you know that we got the results back on Lady’s autopsy and it looks like she ingested a poisonous substance.”

There’s a ringing in my ears, the room sways around me, and my free hand shoots out to grip the bar counter to keep me from falling. “She was poisoned?”

“Actually, it’s far more likely that she ingested it on her own and that it was unintentional. The poison came from a plant called nightlock which is -”

“I know what nightlock is,” I interrupt, the hairs standing up on the backs of my arms. I remember a small plant with spade shaped leaves, tucked away and inconspicuous in Snow’s yard, indistinguishable from a blueberry bush to the untrained eye. But I recognized it. I knew. Just like I know now, without a shadow of a doubt, that Snow was the one who poisoned my dog.

“ - just wanted to let you know,” the doctor is saying, and I nod dumbly even if he can’t see.

“Thanks,” I say, my voice cracking on the word and I pull the phone away from my ear and hang up.

I stand for a few moments, both hands braced on the bar as I struggle to get myself under control. I’m cold all over, my vision swimming, and there’s a roaring in my ears that I can’t silence.

Finally I straighten up and tap out a text to Peeta: **_Need to talk to you after work today._**

He replies quickly. **_Okay. Everything all right?_ **

_No, everything is not all right. That bastard Snow killed my dog._ I swallow hard, typing out **_Tell you later_** , and shove the phone back into my pocket.

The rest of the work day crawls by, and I have to force myself to stop looking at the time when Cinna asks me what’s got me so twitchy. When the clock finally strikes eight, signalling the end of my shift, I make it out of there in record time,

Peeta greets me at the door with a smile and a kiss, but he can tell right away that I’m not myself. His brow furrows as he shuts the door behind me and follows me into the dining room. “Katniss, what’s wrong?”

“I finally heard back from the vet,” I reply, sliding into a chair at his table and scrubbing my hands over my face.

Peeta sits down beside me, reaching across the table to cover my hand with his own. “And? What did they say?”

I take a deep breath, letting it all out in a rush. “The vet said she was poisoned with nightlock berries. They’re extremely toxic; it wouldn’t have taken many to kill her.”

Peeta’s hand closes around mine in a transparent attempt to comfort me. “Nightlock? Does it grow around here?”

I nod sharply. “Yes, but it’s not very common. We didn’t come across it very often. Peeta, she didn’t just eat the berries while she was wandering around. Snow had a bush in his yard; I saw it there that day that I caught her digging in his primrose bushes.” Under the table, my free hand tightens into a fist against my thigh. “He poisoned her. I know he did.”

“Katniss…” Peeta eyes me warily. “I’ll admit, it looks bad, but it’d be hard to prove he did it. She could have picked them up anywhere.”

“Then how do you explain how I found her in my yard with the gate shut?” My lip curls humorlessly. “You think my dog ran back home to die and took the time to shut the door behind her?”

“Maybe the wind blew it shut. Or one of your neighbors saw it was open-”

“No, Peeta,” I counter sharply, pulling my hand out of his grasp. “It was Snow. Last time she broke out she went right to his house and I _told_ you what he said last time. And when she got away from me that time we were walking on his street she went straight for his primroses. His _primroses_ , Peeta!” I push myself up from the table, pacing the length of his kitchen. “How can that be a coincidence? He _did_ something. He killed Prim and somehow Lady knew it, and he killed her too.”

Peeta pulls his hand back, watching me unhappily as I range up and down his kitchen. “You’re right,” he says finally, “it’s too many coincidences,” and I feel myself relax incrementally before his next words negate all of it. “But it’s not enough for me to do anything about it. None of that counts as evidence and the fact remains that her eating poisonous berries that grow wild around Panem isn’t proof that he did it, even if he does have a nightlock bush in his yard.”

My mouth falls open and I feel my face flush with anger. “I can’t believe you!  I thought you were on my side!”

He stands too, looking distressed. “I _am_ on your side, Katniss, but you have to understand-”

“No.” I step forward into his space, stabbing a finger at his chest. “ _You_ have to understand. I know it was him. Everything I had, everything I cared about is gone because of him.” _And I’m not going to let him get away with it._

Peeta moves towards me and for a moment I think he might try to hug me and I tense up, but he just raises his hands in a pacifying gesture. “You could be right; I’m not saying you’re not. I just need more evidence before I can do anything about it. I’m sorry.”

Then he does move to take me in his arms and I step away, out of his reach, ignoring the hurt in his eyes. I can hear the sincerity in his apology but I’m too angry to accept it. “Save it,” I snarl back at him, pushing past him towards the door.

“Where are you going?” he asks, following me to the entry but wisely keeping his distance.

“Home,” I answer shortly, and before he can argue anymore, I’ve got my coat on and I’m back out the door, flinging myself into my truck and starting it with hands that are just starting to shake with anger. He watches me go, his silhouette lit from behind by the lights inside his house, and I feel his eyes on me long after I’ve driven out of sight.

* * *

My mother and Hazelle look up from where they’re seated at the kitchen table when I storm into the house. “Katniss?” my mother asks, perplexed. “I thought you were going to be out tonight?”

I avoid her gaze when I answer, toeing off my shoes and throwing my jacket haphazardly over the back of the couch. “Yeah well, plans change.” I can feel my mother’s watery blue eyes and Hazelle’s sharp grey ones following me as I storm rudely past them up the stairs and to my bedroom, throwing myself on my bed without bothering to undress.

I punch my pillow a few times in frustration before hurling it across the room with an impotent cry of rage. Angry tears squeeze out of my eyes as I clutch the blanket to my chest.

It was Snow. I know it was. Deep down I know that Peeta’s right and there’s nothing he can do about it, at least not without more evidence, but I still want him to. There should be something he can do, something more he can try, and I’m furious with both his and my own inability to do anything when the man I am sure killed Prim is right within our grasp.

Somehow, I manage to drift off to sleep, when there are no more tears left to cry and my voice is hoarse from wordless, choked-off screams made into the fabric of my comforter. But that night, without Peeta by my side to keep the nightmares away, I dream of Prim - of pain and blood and fear - and this time Lady joins her, convulsing and dying while I watch and scream and can’t do anything to stop it.

And when I wake up in a cold sweat, a scream dying on my lips and my eyes stinging with new tears, I’m all alone, and I reach out for Lady before I remember that she’s not there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter is really heavy, emotionally speaking, and for that I'm very sorry! It was as hard to write as I'm sure it was to read, especially as a severe dog-lover myself. Nonetheless I hope you enjoyed it! Thank you so much for your continued support for this story and for your patience waiting for this chapter! Peeta's up next. :)
> 
> Thanks as always to our magnificent beta jennagill and fantastic pre-reader desertginger as well as to both my co-authors for all of your suggestions that helped make this chapter as good as it is.
> 
> I'm madefrommemoriesff on tumblr, and my co-authors are loveforpanem and soamazinghere. Come say 'hi'!


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